From the Ashes
by auralime
Summary: Coco Jumbo and the arrow go missing and it's up to Giorno, Mista, and Trish to save Polnareff. The trio realize just how little they know about each other as they embark on this new adventure together. (aka How Giorno became the new Boss of Passione: The Fanfiction)
1. Prologue

Three figures bowed sorrowfully over the body of Buccellati lying dead in the Colosseum. Trish sat beside the ex-capo with her legs neatly folded under her. Unable to move or speak, she knew what she fought to keep within would not stop if even one tear was to squeeze out of her. Her fight ended with Mista's inconsolable wails. Trish buried her face in Mista's shoulder, hoping to hide her own sobs, though it proved difficult with how much her friend was moving around. Mista had given up on shaking Buccellati awake and was now intent on bloodying his own knuckles by striking the ground with his fist. His cries had descended into an array of choked words that none of them could understand.

Buccellati was the one who brought them all together and was the glue that had kept their little group from drifting apart. They felt lost without him, as if the next breeze would scatter them like paper down the street.

"If we had been faster getting back…," Mista said once they all had time to calm down from the initial shock. "If he hadn't been shot…"

"It's not your fault, Mista." Giorno was the only one standing. He was the calmest of the three, having been given the 'benefit' of a head start on grieving. Though just as upset as his friends, he nonetheless swallowed his tears down. Crying wouldn't solve anything, but maybe actions or words could. He knelt to the ground beside the crumpled Trish facing away while holding onto Mista while Mista held onto Buccellati's sleeve.

"It is my fault! I'm the one who shot him!" Mista's tears returned and threatened to drown out his wavering voice. "I must have accidentally hit something vital. Sex Pistols, which one of you did this?" the bullets were violently shaken from their gun.

"Not me!"

"We didn't do this, Mista!"

"It wasn't us!"

"We only shot his legs! Only non-vitals!" the tiny bullets wailed back.

"Buccellati was already dead before you shot him," Giorno said cautiously. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but his friends deserved to finally know what happened.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Mista cried in confusion, not in the mood for Giorno's habit of spouting cryptic shit before bothering to explain anything. When Giorno didn't immediately respond, Mista slowly ran his hands over his own face and sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little on edge, see? Buccellati was like a brother to me. He saved me from jail, we've been through a lot together, and…" Mista paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. "I know it's not your fault, but saying weird shit while wearing such a calm expression while the rest of us are falling apart is just... you don't even seem that surprised or upset, which pissed me off."

Giorno swallowed hard and looked down at his hands resting on the ground. There was a long pause before he began, "Back when we were dropping Trish off at the tower and Buccellati first faced the Boss, he was killed by a massive hole through the chest. I healed him with Gold Experience, but it was too late. His soul barely hung on while his body decayed. He tried to keep it a secret, but I saw him not notice exposed bones on his hand or nails piercing his palms. His body was cold and he didn't bleed, though he still "lived." Later, while driving with him, I found he had no pulse and he told me- "

"What?" Mista blinked incredulously and slowly got to his trembling feet. This was all so much, so fast. "What are you talking about? I never saw any of that. How could something like that be possible?"

"It's true," Trish spoke up. Giorno and Mista turned to look at her. "I saw Buccellati's leg sliced open on the plane like a split sausage. He didn't bleed or notice the wound was even there. I thought it was a trick of the light or part of the strange Stands I'd just begun to see."

"Like I said, it's not your fault, Mista. Buccellati was already dead when-" Giorno began again.

"So you're telling me – You're telling me that you knew Buccellati was dying this **entire** time and you said nothing?" hot tears ran faster down Mista's face. Buccellati was dead. One of the most important people in all their lives was dead. And yet Giorno's face remained a little too composed while discussing these secrets, these horrible secrets that Buccellati should have told them about - "Why didn't he tell us? Why did he only tell you? We could have all helped him!" Mista's voice nearly broke.

"Buccellati told me not to tell anyon-"

"IF I KNEW HE WAS DYING, I NEVER WOULD HAVE SHOT HIM!" Mista roared. With tears in his eyes, he grabbed the front of Giorno's shirt. "DAMN YOU, he could still be alive IF YOU FUCKING SAID SOMETHING!"

"Mista, you still don't get it. He was already – " Giorno now looked a little more shaken. His chest ached even though his mind and body felt like they were disconnecting from each other. He could barely breathe as he faced the torrent of emotions pouring out of Mista. Giorno felt them too, but could only express them with a simple bowed head. Besides, as upset as Giorno was, he knew it didn't compare to what Mista was feeling. His heart, though trapped in his chest, went out to him. Giorno had developed a strong bond with Buccellati and his gang after knowing them for about a week. Giorno had lost a lot of friends, but Mista, who was in the gang much longer, lost his family. To make matters worse, none of them were brave enough yet to mention Narancia who was lying only yards away.

"FUCK!" Mista let Giorno go. The gunman spun away on his heel and anxiously scratched his hair under his hat while he tried to calm down. That's when a memory surfaced of Abbacchio confiding in Mista his suspicions about the new recruit. How "that 15-year old brat" had not only been the last person to see Polpo and receive a Stand from him, but according to the testimonies of Polpo's prison guards, a young blond kid had left the prison minutes before the fat capo offed himself. Back then, no one but Buccellati knew exactly what Giorno's Stand did and Abbacchio suspected someone used the kid to help assassinate Polpo. Abbacchio's theory back then was that Giorno had mind control powers and was hypnotizing Buccellati. Mista was relieved when they discovered Giorno's powers were gardening and amphibians instead because he genuinely liked the lucky guy. However, that seed of doubt had still sprouted during the final battle when they all suspected each other of being possessed by King Crimson. Mista had accused Giorno of potentially hiding and lying about his powers back then. That moment made him realize just how little they really knew about Giorno. Slowly, Mista turned to face the kid again. "Is there anything else you're hiding?"

Under normal circumstances, Giorno would have been able to keep his cool. Lie through his teeth and tell Mista "There's nothing else." Instead, the toll from seeing Buccellati dead was too much and he guiltily looked to the side, breaking eye contact with Mista for a second. It was a second too long.

"I knew something was fishy about you!" Mista aimed his gun at Giorno's head. This was familiar to all of them, a callback to when Mista threatened to blow off Giorno's limbs while they were chasing Silver Chariot Requiem. 'And why should we trust you? I've got no way of knowing what your ability can do!' 'I can't trust you!' Mista had said. They obviously had a few trust issues to work out.

Giorno stared at Mista, a darkening expression crossing his features. They only knew each other for a short time, but Giorno was certain Mista wouldn't fire. The guy was upset and it wasn't completely unwarranted. Giorno considered how much more upset Mista would be if he knew the rest. How Giorno convinced Bruno to betray and destroy the Boss with him from the very beginning. This was all his fault. Bruno had warned Giorno he wasn't going to protect him if anyone discovered his plan. Giorno had accepted the possibility of fighting Stand users who retaliated against traitors like him while Bruno stood silently by. He didn't think he'd be facing someone he had learned to trust and respect while standing over Buccellati's dead body.

"STOP!" Trish jumped to her feet. "We're all upset, we're all grieving, but this isn't going to solve anything! Mista, put down the gun."

Mista's response was to grunt and draw in an exceptionally loud sniffle.

"I can soften every bullet you fire, rendering your Stand ineffective. You know my Stand is fast enough, I've done it before. Now put it down before I make you put it down."

Mista slowly lowered his gun. "I wasn't actually going to shoot him," he grumbled. "I was just throwing a bit of weight around to get some answers, you know? It's what we do in the gang." Though it was an excuse, he sounded ashamed.

Trish sighed in relief and then turned to Giorno, "And you! If you are hiding something from us, you need to tell us. Right now!"

A small turtle suddenly hobbled into view. "This turtle can't walk very fast and Giorno set me down too far away," Polnareff complained. "What did I miss?"


	2. Electric Boogaloo

Being so low to the ground, one of the first things Polnareff saw were the shoes of the fallen Buccellati. Based on the miserable expressions worn by the teenagers huddled around the body, he could guess what had happened. "Is he…?" A pause. "I'm so sorry." Polnareff said softly.

"We should call the police. The hospital! We can't just leave Buccellati and Narancia here," Trish said now that Polnareff returned their attention back to the bodies of their fallen friends. Multiple police sirens could be heard passing the Colosseum.

"Imagine all the reports the police are handling due to all the people Green Day killed. Not to mention however many people called claiming they'd switched bodies with someone," Mista said quietly while listening to the passing sirens. The entire city was suffering. The teens' grief was not unique.

"Narancia mentioned wanting to go back home before he died. He wanted to go back to school. I promised I'd bring him home," Giorno said.

Mista sighed sadly. "Well, we can't just pack their bodies inside Polnareff (sorry, Pol), drop them off on their families' doorsteps, ring the doorbell, and run. If we stay to express our condolences, their families will ask questions we won't be able to answer. It's best to call emergency personnel here at ground zero. Buccellati and Narancia will be seen as two extra victims among the multiple tragedies inflicted on civilians today."

Giorno bowed his head, his brow furrowed. They all went into this fight acknowledging the high probability of their own deaths but Giorno hadn't expected so many innocent people getting caught in the crossfire.

Mista continued, "This way we can ensure they'll arrive safely with their families without arising too much suspicion. I can give the police general details on where Narancia's family lives and where Bruno's mom still lives. I don't know their exact addresses, but - "

"I have that information on my laptop," Polnareff said.

Mista raised his eyebrows. "Really? You have that kind of information on us? Damn, hackers are scary."

"I'll call the police," Trish offered as she turned to leave. "You three stay here and… look after them."

"No, I'll go." Mista insisted. "You can feel your dad's presence, right? Stay here and make sure that second personality of his isn't still floating around somewhere."

Mista took off running toward the payphone down the street while Giorno stooped to pick up Coco Jumbo and walked a few paces away. Standing so close to Buccellati was becoming unbearable. He wondered if they should clean the blood off him in respect or would that be tampering with the crime scene? Trish also stepped away, though she seemed to be eyeing Buccellati's body with fear now.

"You look stressed. Do you detect something?" Giorno asked Trish, noticing the way her shoulders tightened and how her lips pressed together into a thin line ever since Mista mentioned her dad.

"He's right, I can still feel my father's presence," Trish said stiffly. "Even now. Will he ever go away? Will I always feel this tightening in my chest and this panic that makes me want to scream? What if I feel his presence looming over me for the rest of my life? What if, when he possessed me, he left a piece of himself behind? He had two personalities… why not three?" Trish bitterly laughed as she looked around at the empty Colosseum, half expecting to see a bright pink head peering over some rubble. She wanted to run away. Run away from her father's presence, from the dead bodies of her friends, and from the reality of her mother's death. Maybe all of them could run away somewhere into the mountains. Get a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere by a lake. Have a garden, fish for food, and she could stay in bed for hours each day and cry over what she's lost for the next two weeks. "How do we really know my father has been defeated for good?"

"Like I told Mista when he asked how I could tell how many souls were in one body: Life energy exists as clusters." Giorno placed a hand on Trish's shoulder. "There's no one else in there with you. You're free from your father."

He dropped his hand and Trish sighed in relief, but she still looked worried.

Giorno thought maybe she could benefit from a more thorough explanation. "I don't fully understand it, but while Gold Experience Requiem was striking Diavolo, I felt his life energy vanish. It was strange. It didn't flicker out all at once. Otherwise I'd suspect he used King Crimson to trick us with another time skip. It took a second or two to fade away, but it eventually left. I saw his body still standing there, still alive, but there was no soul inside. Yet you can still feel him. He lives, but he doesn't at the same time. Polnareff said Requiem Stands can control life. I want to understand this more. I want to experiment on myself, but having more variables would be beneficial. Trish, would you like to try using the arrow on your Stand?"

Trish's eyes widened. She certainly was curious but she had some reservations. What if her Stand went berzerk like Polnareff's? "I don't know. Maybe. But it looks painful."

"It is." Then Giorno quickly added after realizing how bad that sounded, "It's ok if you don't want to. I want to ask Mista, too. I understand, we don't have a lot of data on this and don't even know if it's fully safe."

Polnareff had been watching the two and piped up. "Making your Stand prick its finger on the arrow like mine did is a start. You don't have to stab yourself in the face or chest," he chuckled. "I can appreciate the dramatic flair during times of distress, but none of that was necessary. I don't think it would be any danger to you, Trish." Polnareff was also curious about the arrow's capabilities and wanted to provide the Speedwagon Foundation with as much information as possible. He was still debating whether it would be safer to destroy the arrow in case it ever fell into the hands of evil men.

Mista returned, jogging back to the group. "The police are really busy," he huffed, catching his breath. "but they're on their way. Looks like we've got some time on our hands until then." He looked between his three comrades. Giorno was holding Coco Jumbo and Trish stood nearby, looking off into the distance in thought. "No one bothered to fetch Polnareff's laptop?" Mista grumbled something about having to do everything himself as he walked past them. Trish surprised herself by almost giggling.

"What are you two going to do after the police arrive?" Trish asked after Mista returned. She thought about her silly fantasy cabin in the woods, wondering if any of them had any pipe dreams or family to return to.

"Well…," Mista spoke first, "When the Boss rose to power, he did something no one else was able to accomplish: unite most of the mafia from all over Italy into one organized group. I thought Buccellati was going to become the new Boss, but…. well..., " Mista paused to rub his nose and sniff. He had to compose himself before continuing. "Before Diavolo took over, the mafia were just different criminal groups that shared the same code of conduct. Broken into families, they each claimed different territories. There was the Sicilian Mafia, the groups who started it all. The one I have my eye on is the Camorra which had its capital in Naples, where Passione operates. I know Naples and Passione best, so I'm going back there to help keep that group united. In the past, the Camorra were strong because they were designed not to be ruled by one person. In the 70s and 80s, some dude tried to unify the Camorra by forming Nuova Camorra Organizzata, but it failed. Because there were so many families which had equal power, even if one Don was sent to prison or killed, there'd be a dozen more to keep things moving. But I have something none of those Dons ever had: a Stand. The system completely changed once The Boss took over and started handing out Stands to nobodies like me. I'd like to scope out the competition and find out how many Stand users are still surviving in Passione." Mista turned toward Giorno. "You and me, we could lead them together."

Giorno raised his brows. He wasn't expecting this.

"The Sicilian Mafia, the Calabrian, and Sacra Corona can figure out what to do among themselves. We can focus on Naples. Keep them united. Without us, things will probably go back to how they were in the past. Naturally, since I'm the oldest, have more experience, and know more inside information about how the mafia works than you do, I'll be the leader and will be calling the shots. But no matter how lucky of a guy I am, I'm gonna need some backup from a smart guy like you. What do you say?"

It was a nice offer, but Giorno had bigger plans. He paused to consider how to respond.

"What?" Mista balked. "What's with that look? Do you not want to?" He sighed. "I understand, you've only been with us a week and after everything that happened, I get it if you want to be a normal kid again. To go back to Middle School or High School or wherever it is you go. If you want that, that's cool. We'll still keep in touch, though, yeah?"

Giorno decided to ease them both into this. "When you decided to get on the boat, you told Buccellati that after we overthrew the Boss, you wanted to become an officer. You told me you thought Buccellati knew where the Boss's hidden stash was, that we were going to be rich. You asked me if the money was the reason why I chose to be on that boat. Money was never my goal."

Mista wasn't sure where this was going. "… ok? But the whole **point** of the Mafia is to make money! The organization comes first, comes before even God, even before your blood family. Sure, Buccellati was more soft-hearted so the organization never came first for him, and we all liked and respected that, but let's not delude ourselves. When it comes down to it, the mafia is about making a living."

"You thought Buccellati would be the new Boss who would promote you, but that was never possible. Buccellati never had plans to replace the Boss. Instead, he was helping me. **I'm** the one who will be replacing The Boss. When that happens, I will promote you and you will be paid handsomely."

There was silence except for ambulance and police sirens speeding by the Colosseum.

"WHAT!" Mista's voice seemed to echo off the crumbling architecture.

Trish was stunned. She looked away in thought, realizing she'd been projecting her own feelings onto the group. She thought they all wanted out of the mafia and that's why they changed their minds about doing her father's bidding, instead deciding to betray and destroy him. She thought they wanted to be safe from him, cut their ties, and live normal lives away from all the violence, just like she did. Instead both of them wanted to be involved even deeper than ever, vying for top leadership positions. She looked over at Polnareff, who had been studying the two carefully for a long time now. He did not look pleased.

"Once I've established my new position, my first order of business is to clean up the mess The Boss has made." Giorno spoke thoughtfully as if brainstorming his new checklist on the spot. "Rome is especially damaged. It's uncertain how many civilians as well as mafia operatives have died after Cioccolata's Green Day attack. The city is going to be feeling the results of that attack for many years."

"You're 15 years old! What the fuck!" Mista didn't seem to be listening. "You were the newest recruit! Didn't Buccellati pick you up off the street like a little lost puppy, like he did for all of us?"

"My next order of business after that is shutting down the parts of the drug trade that sells to minors." Giorno continued, ignoring Mista's protests. "That's been my main goal for a while now. It was something Buccellati was passionate about, too." Giorno added the last part quietly. "I've also heard terrible stories of crime groups in Naples beginning to deal in human trafficking. They sell young women and girls to buyers overseas. I'd like to investigate and put a stop to that as well."

"Do you even know enough about the mafia to run it? To shut down entire sections of its economy and get away with it? You were with us a week, how much can you know?" Mista didn't know what to think. On one hand, Giorno was just a kid. On the other hand, this kid did just punch the old Boss out of existence. Maybe. What even happened back there? Mista's head hurt.

"Buccellati explained the basics to me, but I'm fully aware how inexperienced and ignorant I am compared to someone who has been in the gang for much longer. Compared to someone like you. Fill me in on the gaps in my knowledge and I'll make you my underboss. Why settle for a lower position in Naples when you can be my second in command?"

Mista blinked.

"Hell YES! We'll take it!" Number 7 shouted while jumping out of Mista's pistol. Mista shushed it and angrily swatted it away. Suddenly, all six of Mista's pistols were buzzing around his head, shouting different things. "You wanna work under some kid?" "He saved us, he defeated The Boss, give him a chance." "He's no Buccellati." "Is anyone else really hungry for some pizza right now?"

Giorno turned to Trish and Polnareff, giving Mista some time to think. "What about you? Will you join me? I'm doing what I believe is just, but I could use help. Polnareff is an expert hacker and investigator who knows more about Diavolo than anyone else. Trish, you're the ex-Boss's daughter and with your Stand, you're incredibly powerful. People will respect you." He said this as if no one will want to respect Trish, but they will be forced to once she knocks some heads around. Trish didn't know how to feel about this. Giorno continued, "It's your decision. It may be very dangerous. I have no idea how many Stand users remain and who will oppose me. How many will come looking for revenge for what we did this morning. Many will try to fill the power vacuum we've created today and I know I'm not going to be a popular replacement for The Boss once everyone gets a look at me. But they will change their minds."

Polnareff and Trish exchanged glances.

Polnareff wasn't sure if he was watching the rise of someone who did desire to clean up the criminal underground, or if he had a front row view of a new tyrant about to latch onto power. But he thought about how quickly Giorno handed back the arrow when Polnareff requested it. There was no hesitation. Polnareff had already explained that once his Stand let go of the Arrow, all of his great power would disappear. Gold Experience was back to its original, weaker state and Giorno wasn't itching to regain the power again. In fact, Giorno even wanted to give the power to his friends, even if it was only to study the arrow's effects. Polnareff wanted to believe the kid, but he'd also been tricked by another blond Stand user in the past who also desired power. Polnareff decided to get closer to Giorno and keep an eye on him. He'd also need to contact the Speedwagon Foundation now that the threat of Diavolo was no longer looming over his head. He was free to come out of hiding and the benefit of inside information about Diavolo's organization would be invaluable. "I will help you," Polnareff said. "I'm just a ghost inside a turtle, but I'll do my best. I'd also like to get to know the people who defeated the one who killed me," Polnareff said. His upper body was sticking out of the key's jewel on the turtle's back and he looked down at his permanent home with a thoughtful frown.

Giorno visibly relaxed, exhaled a long breath, and held a small smile. He hadn't been sure if any of them would be willing to further risk their lives or if any of them would be willing to see him as a leader, but now he had the man who gave them the means to defeat The Boss. It was good to have even one comrade. "Thank you. Without you, we never would have won. I owe you a lot."

Trish didn't think she'd ever seen Giorno smile before. Maybe he was capable of expressing positive human emotion after all. Most of what she saw him express was stern seriousness, anger, pain, or dread. This helped calm her now that it was her time to make a decision, but it also made her feel guilty about leaving them. "I want to go back home. Right after mom died, I was taken away by dad's men. I… I wasn't even able to help with mom's funeral arrangements. I need to go back right away. I need to be at her funeral." Trish bit her trembling lip and looked down at her hands which were tightly gripping her skirt. "I need to visit her grave. Only after that can I afford to think about the future."

"I'm really sorry," Giorno said delicately. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Trish considered the offer then suddenly looked sheepish. "Could either of you help me buy a ticket back home? I don't have any money on me. I'll pay you back."

"Of course we'll lend you some money!" Mista said as returned. "The both of us will be swimming in dough soon, now that my dude Giorno is gonna be Boss. A plane ticket is no problem!"

Now Giorno was properly smiling. "Mista, does this mean...?"

Mista stepped back, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I thought about it, and… you said Buccellati supported you. That he didn't want to be Boss, but you did. I was surprised because I thought it was the opposite this entire time, but it makes sense. You were some random guy no one knew but Buccellati always seemed particularly concerned and protective over you. Don't get me wrong, he cared about us all, but like, on the plane when most of us were injured, he was especially upset and worried about you. Also, Buccellati didn't even ask you if you wanted to get on that boat. I thought it was weird he already knew your answer without asking. Buccellati also complied when you told him to give us an explanation for why he was betraying the Boss, even though it was obvious he didn't want to. Abbacchio was damn pissed about that! He thought you were always overstepping your bounds, telling people what to do, and acting like you didn't know your place. Abbacchio also said you'd vaguely talk about some dream of yours and Buccellati looked at you like you had sunshine blowing out your ass. All that makes sense if what you're saying is right. If Buccellati supported you, then I will too. Besides, you've saved my ass several times now, you've proven yourself by landing the final blow to The Boss, and I want to stay around as a reminder that you never could have done it on your own."

Giorno chuckled. "Of course. Thank you, Mista." The comment 'If Buccellati supported you, then I will too' made Giorno wonder if Mista was simply displaying his loyalty to Buccellati and not to Giorno. This could be Mista's way of completing Buccellati's final mission and Giorno was simply a teammate to help complete said mission. Would Mista really be ok with the more inexperienced Giorno leading him? For now, Giorno was just happy Mista was still on his side. After all, he wasn't the Boss just yet.

Trish smiled, happy to see the two boys getting along again. "Thank you so much for helping me. Not just with the plane ticket. With… everything. I owe you a lot and you've lost a lot because of me and my father."

"Trish, it's not your fault," Giorno said sadly.

Trish shook her head. "I know, it was all my father's fault. But everyone protected me with their lives, I still can't help feel somewhat responsible for what happened." Trish looked back at Buccellati and the wall where Narancia lay behind. That's when Giorno noticed a pair of police officers entering the Colosseum.

* * *

Trish quietly cried as Mista "recounted" a story to the police where the five of them hid in the Colosseum during the chaos on the streets.

"People were screaming about swapping bodies, we thought the whole world had gone mad!" Mista's acting was only enhanced by the real tears Trish shed.

Giorno had quickly turned Mista's gun into a bright yellow rose when they saw the police coming, which Mista was now waving around wildly as he told his tale. Giono stayed silent, staring at the ground while holding Coco Jumbo tightly to his chest. Mista told the cops their group split up only for a few minutes to scope out the surroundings. Upon meeting back up again, they found the bodies of their two friends.

"Maybe the mafia got them? Or robbers or murderers taking advantage of the chaos?" Trish cried.

The police didn't ask many questions. They were already overworked and understaffed, dealing with last night's killer mold attack and the body switching epidemic that apparently everyone "just got better" from. Two dead bodies that looked to have died from gunshot wounds and whatever else "normal" thing Narancia died from were the least jarring things they'd seen all day. The police quickly took down some notes, Mista told them the home addresses of their friends, and an ambulance was waiting to take the bodies to a hospital to confirm the cause of death. Trish kissed both Bruno and Narancia on their foreheads before they were zipped up in body bags and carried away on stretchers. Mista kept a stiff upper lip, but still wiped tears off his cheeks. Giorno stared at the ground, his emotions trying to rise out of him but were instead trapped somewhere heavily in his chest, unable to move.

They all agreed to visit their graves later and say their final goodbyes.

* * *

Rome was placed under quarantine due to the killer mold as well as the mass hallucination experienced earlier that morning. The body count was still unknown. Investigations were trying to piece the two events together while deciding whether the phenomenon was over and if it was contagious. City officials had all roads blocked off around all sections of the city which had known to be infected within a several mile radius, with the exception for emergency personnel. Giorno, Trish, Mista, and Polnareff were able to sneak outside the quarantine zone thanks to Coco Jumbo's ability to be a small, inconspicuous turtle that could crawl around barricades unnoticed.

Once outside the quarantine zone, they stole a car and headed to the nearest airport.

* * *

Flying was the fastest and most economical way for Trish to return home to the island of Sardinia. Giorno and Mista stayed with her until her plane was ready to board. Trish scooted Coco Jumbo off her lap where it was eating the lettuce from a sandwich Mista bought for her. She had been looking much more relaxed since leaving the city, no longer able to feel her father's presence. She handed the turtle back to Giorno.

"Thank you," she told the boys, smiling through her sorrow. She hated to see them go. "You two saved my life and have treated me with nothing but professionalism and respect since the first day we met."

Mista was smiling but internally he grimaced, thinking about the time he ogled her boobs when she leaned over to adjust her boots soon after she first joined them. And he blurt out so many embarrassing things when Fugo accidentally fell into her lap. He also wasn't sure if she was still upset from when he tried adjusting her uncomfortably tight underwear when they swapped bodies. But yeah, other than that, nothing but respect.

"You've saved our lives, too." Giorno answered. "I would either be dead or permanently crippled if you hadn't saved us on the plane. We would never have found what we were searching for if not for the information you gave us," Giorno kept the details vague due to them speaking in a public place. "You're part of our team."

Polnareff peered out of the key, mostly hidden by Giorno's arm, and slipped him a piece of paper with a number written on it. "Trish, call us if you ever need anything," Polnareff said. "We've decided to go back to my place to regroup. That is the phone number to my apartment."

Giorno handed Trish the number and Trish traded back her own piece of paper she had prepared earlier while inside the turtle. "Here's mine. It's our… the number to my home." Trish faltered, remembering her mother no longer lived with her.

"Do you have family back home? You won't be alone, will you?" Mista asked.

Trish bit her lip. "Um. Oh, yeah, my grandparents live not too far away. Please don't worry about me," she lied. She just wanted to get home as fast as she could without any fuss. She could tell them the truth later.

They all quietly looked at each other before Trish stepped forward to give the two a hug. Polnareff included, if Coco Jumbo being squashed between Giorno and Trish counted.

"Ciao! Thank you! I'll see you!" she said as she turned to go.

"You better come visit us!" Mista called back. "Remember, we gotta see our friends at the cemetery later!"

"I will be there!"

And with that, she was gone.

"She better keep in touch." Mista said as they later watched her plane take off from the large airport windows. "Me and her, we shared a bond, swapping bodies and all. You know, running in heeled boots isn't nearly as hard as it looks once you get used to it."

"It's good she can return to a normal life," Giorno said. "There's been a lot of damage in the wake of our battles. I'm glad one of us made it out safely."

"Would you ever want to go back to a normal life?" Mista asked.

Giorno paused before responding. "No. I have a purpose where I am now. There is nothing waiting for me back home."

"I agree! I don't even know how I could live a normal life again after joining the gang. Experiences like ours changes a person," Mista twirled a yellow flower between his fingers. Giorno had again transformed his gun into a rose to get through airport security.

Suddenly, Giorno felt something akin to a small current of electricity as the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. There was a sudden jolt as if a force caused him to slide backwards, but he found himself still standing where he should be. The only difference was the turtle Giorno was carrying was gone. "Ah. Polnareff… ?!" Giorno called out in shock as he looked down at his empty hands and the empty floor.


	3. Take Me Home

Mista heard Giorno cry out in shock, noticed the turtle missing, and saw his companion frantically searching for their missing friend. Without a word, Giorno released Gold Experience's effects on Mista's gun and the flower changed back into its original form. Airport security was a minor inconvenience compared to the dangers of another Stand user. Mista shoved the weapon deep into his pants pocket. The grip poked out, but there were few places he could conceal the gun while also keeping it within quick reach.

"What happened?" Mista asked as he searched the crowds. There were so many people here. Damn.

"It felt like I was pulled backwards, but… wasn't? There was some kind of current…" Giorno said while analyzing his surroundings. All the people who stood in front and behind him commented on dizzy spells and vertigo. No one on either of his sides seemed to have noticed anything, including Mista. "He's still here. Moments ago, he was most likely a few yards in front of us or a few yards back."

Giorno and Mista split up. As Giorno jogged through the crowds, he tried to spot anyone who could be carrying or concealing a turtle-sized object. Then he felt it again. The force was much weaker and the current more like weak static electricity than a jolt, but the sensation was a pull forward this time. "Mista, this way!" he called and Mista was by his side in an instant. Giorno watched to see if anyone showed signs of being able to see Stands as several of the Pistols floated around people's heads, waving their arms and screaming. Nothing. There was a brief run-in with security who responded to reports of a man in a strange hat carrying a gun, but they were left alone once the officers could find nothing but a stick from a tree in Mista's pocket.

"I thought it was a neat-looking stick," Mista innocently smiled and shrugged at security.

Giorno and Mista searched for over an hour before admitting the trail had gone cold.

"Shit, what are we gonna do?" Mista said as they stood outside at the far end of the airport where few people mingled. A few hundred feet away, taxi cabs lined up to escort travelers in and out of the airport. Giorno and Mista had already checked as many of the cabs as they could. "We've got no leads! I don't know anyone with a Stand that has effects like what you described."

"Whoever they are, they used the crowds at the airport to their advantage. They're stealthy and had no desire to fight us. We've been at this airport a while and only after Trish left did they make their move," Giorno thought aloud. "Its user is most likely part of the mafia. While we can't rule out the possibility it's someone from outside the country since we _are_ at an airport," Giorno thought of Koichi Hirose, "but we did just topple Diavolo. He was a very private man who had few ties inside Italy, much less outside the country. No one else should know about the turtle. This has to be tied to what we did this morning…"

"The guy could be anywhere by now. He could even be on one of the planes! Wherever he's from, it's hard to say where he is now."

"We should find out the destination of every plane that has left this airport today, starting from a few minutes after Polnareff disappeared. Also, find out what the mafia influence is like in this section of the country so we can start collecting possible suspects." Giorno then sighed regretfully. "I should have left Polnareff one of my ladybug pins. I could have tracked him. We were so careful while traveling out of Rome making sure we weren't followed, but I let my guard down…"

"Hey, we'll get him. We were able to find The Boss, the most secretive man in the world. Finding some punk who was obviously too scared to engage us face-to-face will be easy in comparison!" Mista seemed confident. There was little else to do _but_ be optimistic.

Giorno thought quietly for a moment. "Trish might be in danger."

"If she had been attacked on the plane, we should have seen, I don't know, something like the entire plane deflating into taffy from Spice Girl's effects. Maybe she's ok for now."

"Whoever knows about the turtle probably knows about her, too. Maybe they don't care about her and she's safer staying away. Maybe it would be best not to involve her, but I want to call her to see if she's ok. She also deserves to be informed and prepared in case they _do_ go after her sometime in the future. It's been over an hour since her plane departed. She should be on the ground by now."

"We should check the news to see if anything happened to her plane while we find a phone. There are television sets all over the airport. Dude, you do still have her number, right? Or did you give it to Pol?"

Giorno pulled from his pocket a slip of paper with Trish's number written in her tidy handwriting.

"Great, let's go!"

* * *

Trish's flight had been uneventful, save for the plucky Australian tourist who spoke in broken Italian sitting next to her. The excitement oozing out of him was comforting as he told her about all the places he had visited in Europe so far. Even after all that had happened, people were still out there living normal lives, unaware of the Stand battles she and her friends had barely survived from and the deaths of so many others. The world was still moving forward, so she felt like maybe she could, too.

From the airport, she took a taxi home. She paid with money Giorno had given to her when they first arrived at the airport outside Rome. Something about the money bothered her. She could have sworn he had stolen it because when he first opened his wallet, it appeared empty. However, the next moment, there were bills in his hand. She was about to berate him when she was distracted by the photograph of a young man in his wallet who looked a little like Giorno. Trish thought it was Giorno's older brother until she noticed the amount of wear on the photo. It was old. It could have been his father but the last name written on the photo was different. She decided it was too personal of a subject to bring up.

As the taxi cab drove away and she stood in front of her old home, the sun setting behind it and a light drizzle misting the air, she realized how much of a different person she now was. It had only been a week since the last time she was here, but it felt more like months. She thought back to a time not so long ago when her biggest concern was an upcoming test she dreaded. None of the things that used to scare her in the past seemed to matter anymore. The familiar smell of grass mixing with the sea air was strong, filled with her with deep nostalgia, but it oddly made her feel far away. As if she was trapped in a tiny room, only looking through a window to the outside. She walked through the large building which housed multiple small apartments. Trish and her mother lived on the second floor, their main window overlooking a beautiful view of the ocean. When Pericolo suddenly appeared and took her away, she had no time to bring anything with her, not even a key. However, she had Spice Girl now and she could easily soften the door and its lock enough to enter any locked room. She passed a rather large stack of newspapers by her front door. Their kind, elderly neighbor always saved them for her and her mother to read after they were done with the morning paper.

Opening the door to her home, Trish's heart sank. All their furniture had been turned onto their sides. Books, pictures, and dishes lay scattered and smashed all over the floor. Trish paused, noting how low the sun was sinking into the horizon by how the colors were changing in the sky out a nearby window. Should she go further inside now and check out her home before the sun sets or should she leave and find some other place to stay for the night? Spice Girl appeared by her side and Trish slowly went in.

The apartment was silent, save for the gentle swishing of ripped curtains. A window had been left partially open. The cushions on the antique chair her mother inherited from her great grandmother had been torn and gouged with a large knife. Picture frames were knocked off the walls and all items on shelves were hastily knocked over. This must have been the work of either her father or La Squadra, the group of Stand users Buccellati's team fought to protect her from. Could one of them still be here? She quietly went from the living room/kitchen area to the bedrooms, gently softening the floor wherever her feet fell, muting her steps. She found her and her mother's beds ripped to shreds. Her old piggy bank was smashed, coins littering the floor and the meager stash of cash that was her life savings, kept hidden beneath the legs of her dresser, were spilled out everywhere. Whoever had been here was obsessed enough to find any shred of information on her father that money wasn't the least bit interesting. Once she thoroughly searched each room and was certain no one was in the house with her, she relaxed and began cleaning up.

She picked up a photo of her and her mother from the floor. The frame was shattered and glass was everywhere. She used Spice Girl to soften the shards so she could safely wipe them away with a hand. They clinked when falling to the ground, but were now too elastic to further shatter. Soft tears fell on the photograph. Her grandparents had taken this photo of her and her mother on her 15th birthday. Her mother was leaning in, their foreheads almost touching. Donatella had told her she was proud of Trish that day. They were too poor to afford big birthday parties, but all Trish wanted was a cake, ice cream, and the people she loved to celebrate with her. Carefully placing the picture and its frame, now glassless, onto a shelf, she went out to fetch the newspapers outside her door. Trish wondered if her mother's obituary was in the papers yet. She brought the stack inside, closed the door, and flipped through the pages. She suddenly paused when she got to the obituaries and listened to the only sound in the house: the wind gently rustling curtains. She stood there for a long time, staring blankly at the window, imagining what it would be like to transform into the wind. The wind didn't care about the past and had no concept of the future. It just was. If she was the wind, she would catch a ride into the sky and sleep on the clouds, stars covering her like a blanket every night. Slowly, all feeling was drained from her body and the only thought she could muster was the question: Is this what going into shock feels like?

The sound of the telephone ringing jolted her awake with such force it felt like someone had punched her in the chest. She lept high into the air from fright and stumbled over a drawer that had long been thrown halfway across the room. She would have struck her head against the small kitchen table that was lying on its side if Spice Girl hadn't softened it. Trish gently fell into it as if it was a bean bag. The wall her hand smacked against in her panic also turned soft and now looked to be melting into the kitchen.

She scrambled to her feet, looking around like a cornered animal. What if someone _was_ hiding here, heard the phone, and….? Trish swallowed hard, willing herself to focus. This was no time to panic. Maybe it was Giorno and Mista making sure she made it home ok. Or maybe the phone hid a trap laid by a Stand user who has been awaiting her return…

She slowly approached the phone and hovered her hand over the receiver. It had already rung a dozen times before Trish mustered up the nerve to pick it up. She paused. "…. Yes?"

"Oh thank god, Trish!" she could hear Mista on the other side, out of breath. "I kept calling! I ran out of change and I had to fight this nasty old lady at the café to split a large bill for me! She said I looked quote-unquote "shifty"!"

"Mista, ask her if she's ok," Giorno's voice could be heard on the other end, singed with impatience.

"Right," said Mista. "So Trish, we met with a little… incident when you left. Is everything ok with you?"

"Yes, everything's fine," said Trish, looking around at her destroyed home. "Besides the fact someone broke into my home and trashed the place."

"Fuck me, you gotta get out of there right now!" Mista shouted before lowering his voice. Trish could hear the sound of cars in the background as well as Giorno asking, "What? What happened?"

Trish had fear in her voice now, "I checked – there's no sign of anyone here, but you're right. I don't feel safe here. What – what happened to you guys?" She dreaded the worst. Was her father back? She _knew_ it! Giorno didn't fully understand Requiem Stands, there was _no way_ he could have been absolutely sure her father was gone!

"Someone... stole Polnareff," Mista said hesitantly.

"Wha-"

"We're worried they might be after you, too. If they trashed your place, it might not be safe for us to be separated right now. Let us at least help you scope out your home. We can even set you up to live somewhere else if you still feel unsafe. For now, go to your grandparents' place and we'll meet you there. Where do they live?" Mista asked.

Right. She had lied to them and told them her grandparents were still alive so they wouldn't worry. Looking back on that now, that was a stupid thing to do. "They're… not in town at the moment," she cringed, silently promising she'd tell the truth the next they met. "We could meet at this small hotel about 15 kilometers from my apartment. I'll use a fake name."

"Are there any friends you can stay with instead?" Mista asked.

"I don't want anyone else killed because of me!" Trish released a sob, her throat clenching up. She clamped a hand over her mouth. She had been keeping it together so well, where did that come from?

"Ok, ok!" Mista said, sympathetically. "Look, it's going to take a while for me and Giorno to get there. There aren't a lot of flights to Sardinia and it's getting late. We'll drive to another city for a flight, take a ferry, whatever's the fastest. We could arrive in the middle of the night, or it could be tomorrow morning. Stay safe in the meantime and we'll be there as soon as we can."

Trish gave them the address to the hotel and told them to wait in the lobby for her. She would tell the receptionist to call her when two men fitting their descriptions arrived. When she hung up, her hands were shaking from shock over what had happened to Polnareff. Did this mean the arrow was also gone? But she also felt relieved. The loneliness of this empty apartment was strangling her. Her past was as destroyed as her family's antique furniture. She could already feel the grief she was trying so hard to ignore slowly catching up to her. She didn't want to grieve alone. She wondered why she was being so selfish, feeling even the smallest bit of contentment when Polnareff was missing.

She walked into her mother's room and took as much money she could find. "I'm sorry, mom, for stealing from you like this," she said, feeling guilty though she knew it was silly to think so. She wouldn't allow herself to think the next thought swirling somewhere in the back of her mind, else she'd curl into a ball and cry until Giorno, Mista, or an enemy Stand user found her the next morning: Her mother was dead and had no use for money anymore.

Trish picked up her scattered savings from her room and packed a book bag which contained a change of clothes. After unchaining her bike from the outside bike rack, she took one last look at her childhood home. "Thank you for everything. I hope to see you again," she fondly said to it before turning to leave.


	4. sudo apt-get password

Giorno and Mista didn't arrive in Sardinia until the next morning, so the night was long and largely sleepless for Trish. Every creak or sound of a distant door slamming at the small hotel made her heart skip. The upside was she was able to take the first shower she'd had in days. She had complained how much Mista smelled, but frankly none of them were exactly fresh. There was no bathroom in the turtle, after all.

She changed into her spare clothes: a small, sleeveless black shirt with spaghetti straps and black leggings. She felt more comfortable wearing something a little more… supportive while running around and fighting. She also still wore the math-patterned choker and skirt she loved. Her skirt was a bit dirty, but she had wiped it down as much as she could with a damp towel and a bit of complimentary hotel shampoo in the bathroom.

When Giorno and Mista arrived, the relief was so great, she threw her arms around them in a warm hug. "I'm so glad you're here! Was your trip safe? I – oh, you two need a bath," she stepped back from them and waved a hand in front of her face while wearing a teasing smile.

"This again?" Mista pretended to look hurt. They followed her from the lobby to her room, where she made them both freshen up before discussing their next move.

"Before Polnareff was taken, he wanted to take us to his apartment where he'd been conducting research on The Boss," Giorno said, his hair damp. "He wanted to show us more details about what he had learned about the arrow and he also mentioned something about certain Stand users he said we needed to see. When he was taken, his laptop went with him, but he said he had a desktop computer that held the majority of his files. We have the address to his apartment, so we're going there next to look for clues."

"I have as much information about outgoing flights that we could find at the airport after Polnareff was taken," Mista held up a folder where he was keeping his quickly scrawled notes written on airport café napkins. "Polnareff said he was researching Stand users, so we can cross-reference this with some of the information we find at Polnareff's."

"Great, let's go!" Trish said said as she grabbed her bag. They didn't have a moment to waste. It had been already too long since they last saw Polnareff. Who knew what he was enduring right now. Was he even still alive? Trish shuddered at the thought of losing another colleague.

"Wait, you're going with us? You don't want to stay in Sardinia?" Mista asked, confused. "We'll arrange a place for you to stay while you wait for your grandparents to come home."

Trish refused to turn around, not able to face them. She bit her lip hard before speaking. "My grandparents," her voice wavered. "They're both dead. Right after my mom died, my grandparents got into a terrible car crash and died. My father was so obsessed with erasing his past, he must have feared mom mentioned something about him to them. I checked the obituaries from the newspapers that had piled up on our doorstep and sure enough, they both died in a car crash the very day I was picked up by Passione." Trish paused and swallowed. "While I was gone, I even missed my mother's funeral." She suddenly found herself unable to speak. She buried her face in her hands, her chest aching from the effort of silencing her sobs behind ragged breaths.

"Damn. I'm so sorry, Trish," Mista almost whispered. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she tensed up. He dropped his hand, but still stood by her side.

Giorno was thoughtful for a moment before stepping closer to her and asking, "Trish, what do you want to do? You're welcome to come with us, but if you're not feeling up to it- "

"NO! I'm going with you. I'm helping you find Polnareff!" a strong voice burst from her, surprising them all. She then said quietly, "I _need_ to do this."

* * *

Polnareff's apartment was right outside Rome. It made sense, he didn't have much mobility in his legs which made travel more difficult. Telling Buccellati to meet him at the Colosseum was more convenient for Polnareff than anyone else.

Trish used Spice Girl to soften the door and lock to Polnareff's apartment so they could enter without a key, just as she had done at her own home. Inside, they found a small apartment with no furniture besides a bed, a fold-out desk with a desktop computer, a printer, and a bookshelf with some books and miscellaneous computer supplies. There were papers everywhere.

"Let's see what the old French guy cooked up…" Mista said as he booted up Polnareff's computer. There wasn't even a chair due to Polnareff never having a need for one, so Mista had to stand. Giorno and Trish huddled around to watch as a Linux login screen appeared.

Mista tried as many passwords as he could think: password, polnareff, diavolo, france, silverchariot, turtle, opensesame, wheredidpolnareffseyebrowsgo…

Giorno and Trish took turns trying their own guesses, but neither were successful even after they had searched the papers scattered across the room, looking for clues. The only password they could find was the complicated set of numbers and letters that was his internet connection password written on a yellow sticky note taped to the bottom of the keyboard. The papers littering the floor were mostly street maps across Italy as well as geologic and topographic maps of Greenland.

"UGH, this is impossible!" Mista grumbled as he gestured frantically at the computer. "We're SO CLOSE! The computer is _right there_!" Mista leaned in close to the tower and growled, "Give us your goods!" He suddenly paused and stood straight up. "WAIT!" Mista shouted, startling both Giorno and Trish. "You know who _might_ know how to crack this?" He turned to face his two friends. "Fugo… he used to say some real nerd shit like 'computer programming is basically just math.' He's a real smart guy who went to college when he was only 13 years old! We should go see him!"

Giorno and Trish looked at each other. "Do you think he'd be willing to help us?" Giorno asked Mista. "You knew him longer than I did. After his decision to not stay with us, is there a chance he's no longer on our side?"

"Fugo was really loyal to Buccellati, like we all were. He was particularly close with Narancia, but now with both of them gone… I mean, the guy could be a bit unstable, but. Hm. I think we should at least drop by and see how he's doing."

"He must not know what had happened," Trish said quietly. "We'll be the ones to break the news…"

"He's going to find out one way or the other," said Giorno. "It's best if he hears it from us first. He already knew about our plan, so this won't be a shock to him. Once The Boss's defeat is confirmed, he'll immediately know we were responsible. I don't know how loyal he was to Diavolo. It would be valuable information to see his initial reaction upon learning about the Boss's defeat. We can make our final decision and figure out what to do about him then. Mista, where does Fugo live?"

Mista paused as he thought about how rarely Giorno ever spoke as if he was actually 15 years old. He said so much weird shit and could seem robotically cold at times. Mista knew the guy cared, but sometimes… Man, sometimes the kid weirded him out. Maybe Mista felt closer to Fugo than he realized, but something about the way Giorno talked about Fugo like that, as if there was a possibility they'd have to fight Fugo if he reacted the wrong way towards Diavolo's defeat, it rubbed Mista the wrong way. Mista knew it was the correct way of thinking, though. This was a life-and-death situation and Mista couldn't let sentimentality blind him, so he gave Giorno Fugo's address.

* * *

Fugo lived not far from the little café in Naples that Buccellati's group liked to frequent together.

"He was roommates with Narancia," Mista told them on the train ride over. "Can you imagine what that must have been like? They got on each other's nerves so much! But maybe that's also why they were so close and able to make up so fast after each fight. They had a lot of practice."

"Now Fugo lives alone. Do you think he's still there? He could have moved," Trish looked sad.

"I don't know, it's hard to tell with that guy. But his last address is the only one I know about. I don't know where else he could be staying. I wonder how he's holding up," Mista quietly said as he looked out the train window at the Italian countryside. Giorno sat next to Mista in silence.

* * *

Giorno, Mista, and Trish confirmed their game plan as they talked in the shade of an alley across the street from Fugo's apartment. Mista wanted to be the one to talk to Fugo because he knew him best, but Giorno insisted on talking to him alone.

"It's risky and I won't survive if he goes for my face," Giorno explained, "but I'm still the most likely to survive an attack from him between the three of us. This is on the off-chance he's still loyal to The Boss. However, his decision to not join us hinged on his belief that we could never defeat the boss nor live outside the gang. We proved this belief wrong. Besides, I want to see his reaction up close."

"Fine, but it's your fault if you piss him off and he decides not to help us. The guy can appear calm, but he can snap at any moment," Mista sighed begrudgingly as he took his place with Trish down the hallway where they could hide around the corner but still peer out to see what was going on, or come help if needed. There was no reason for all three of them to stand around like sitting ducks within Fugo's Stand's range. "I gotta say, that kid's got some guts," Mista said to Trish once Giorno was in front of Fugo's door. "I didn't want to say anything in case he doesn't take this seriously enough, but if he does fuck this up, I might be able to do some damage control with Fugo."

Giorno wasn't sure if Fugo was home, it took so long for him to open the door. It wouldn't have been surprising if Fugo had moved somewhere else for his own safety in case there were any La Squadra stragglers. On the other hand, Giorno imagined not many people would want to risk coming into contact with a Stand like Purple Haze. A disheveled Fugo answered the door. He looked like he hadn't left his apartment for the past few days. For all Fugo knew, he had no team left and even some of the higher ups had gone silent. People were beginning to suspect a big portion of the top officials had died in what was obviously a big Stand battle in Rome. He assumed all of Buccellati's gang was dead.

"He's gone. We succeeded," Giorno said quietly in greeting.

Fugo's eyes widened as he peered out of his apartment door, looking up and down the hallway in excitement. "We? Where is everyone else?" Where was Narancia? Buccellati?

"Before we get into that, I'd like to give you the opportunity to make one more decision. You said we could never live outside the gang. You were wrong. I am here to tell you that I am going to become the new Boss and then I will _be_ the gang."

Fugo stared. "Er... You? Boss?" Was this a joke? When Giorno's neutral expression remained unchanged, Fugo realized the guy was serious. Fugo shook his head. "You made it out alive. You should celebrate your absurd luck, not throw yourself into more danger." He worried about Narancia. Where was he? "Within days, all of Passione will figure out what happened. The gang is broken from so many prominent Stand users dying from our recent battles. Once everyone figures out there is no Boss, all the most powerful men in the mafia are going to be vying to refill these positions. Especially "your" position. There are still many powerful Stand users left, I'm proof of that. What makes you think you can succeed?" Fugo was agitated. Where the hell was Narancia?

"We defeated The Boss and his "impossible" Stand. We can succeed again."

Fugo had begun to worry Giorno was the only one left, so Giorno's use of "we" calmed him. "Even if you succeed, you're never going to be safe again. Why do you want the top position so badly? We're fine with Buccellati as Capo."

"No one is safe once they enter the gang. Few live long or escape jail in this line of work. I do not expect to live into old age whether my goal is met or not. I only care about what I can do with whatever time I have. Do you expect to live a long, happy life where you are now?"

"No, but it's foolish to throw your life away based on fanciful ideals. Not reaching old age because life sucks is one thing, but throwing yourself into a woodchipper because you think you'll find Narnia on the other side is another thing. You may have taken down the Boss, but now you'll have every Stand user in the country against you. They won't accept a kid like you."

"They don't have to accept me. No one fully accepts anyone in the mafia. You smile to your "friends", kiss them on the cheek, call them family, but the moment a mistake is made and a vulnerability is shown, you're shot in the back. We both know how it is in this world. No one really cares. All that matters is power and what a person does with that power. I am not deluded in what I'm up against. There is a chance I may fail, but failing is better than living in the gutter, afraid of the rats for the rest of my life."

"You say all that matters is power. Is that why you're here? Is your power not strong enough and you need me to back you up?" Fugo mused.

Giorno thought about how Mista told him on the train ride here that Narancia was outspoken in his disapproval of Polpo, who picked on the weak and sold drugs to kids. How much Fugo cared about Narancia. How much Fugo looked up to Buccellati, who shared Narancia's ideals, but warned them not to speak of them aloud. "I'm here because you're different from the others in this gang. You supported Buccellati but your pragmatism prevented you from joining us. Your decision was understandable and logical. You don't have to join us. It's not clear to me whether you will ever _want_ to join us. We would just appreciate your help for one night. It's not a matter of the strength of your Stand, but of your mind."

Fugo looked interested.

"What's going on?" Trish whispered to Mista where she was crouched behind him down the hall.

"Uh. They're getting along." Mista paused as he squinted his eyes at the two. "… I think."

Giorno turned and looked directly at Mista and Trish.

"That's our cue, let's go!" Mista held out a hand for Trish, who accepted it as she was steadied back to her feet. She had been crouching so long, her legs had fallen asleep.

"Hey, Foogs," Mista greeted as he approached the platinum blond. Fugo's face lit up before it was crushed into Mista's sweater from the bear hug.

"Mista!" Fugo cried out in happiness once they separated, wearing a huge grin. "Oh, hi, Trish," he seemed to shrink in shyness when he saw her. Fugo looked up and down the hallway again before asking hesitantly, "Where… is everyone else?"

* * *

The trio had agreed to not tell Fugo about Requiem Stands. That was a dangerous piece of information that would have devastating results if released throughout the gang. However, they did catch Fugo up on everything else. All of the deaths, the Boss's defeat (minus a few details), and the abduction of their friend who was inside the stolen turtle. Fugo sat with his hands resting on his forehead for some time, taking it all in. He was upset, but he had suspected they had been _all_ dead for days now. His apartment showed little signs of it now, but he had trashed the place the day none of them decided to stay with him on the shore. He spent the next few days cleaning up and patching several holes he had punched through walls. It was a miracle even one member of the gang survived, much less two. Still, he really missed the others, especially Narancia. He would give anything to hear Narancia say something stupid again and Fugo wouldn't even be mad anymore if Narancia let the dishes pile up in the sink.

"So, we just need to hack into this one computer. I figured if anyone could do it, it was you," Mista said.

"While I do know some basics, I'm no expert like your abducted friend apparently was," Fugo said. "He may at best have a complicated password and at worse he encrypted all his drives. Even if I can help, don't expect my methods to be very fast, I'm still an amateur. Though, when you know how to research properly, you can find anything you need to know. I have a laptop I can bring. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

Mista grinned, patting Fugo on the back. They had another member of the team back! Possibly. Things were starting to look up.

* * *

By the time they returned to Polnareff's apartment, the sun was already beginning to set. Fugo worked late into the night researching this puzzle. Giorno and Mista had not slept since Diavolo was defeated and were running on fumes. Mista decided to take a nap on Polnareff's bed. Giorno tried to stay awake, but ended up falling asleep on the floor beside the computer desk.

Fugo sometimes found it difficult to concentrate as he worked, busy thinking about how much their world was going to change soon. So many of his friends were gone and Fugo wasn't sure what he wanted to do. For now, having a task to complete was nice. It gave him something to think about other than the maddening, ruminating thoughts of death and uncertainty he'd been experiencing the past few days.

Fugo looked at Giorno sleeping at his feet. This guy wanted to become Boss and here he was lying defenseless on the floor of a messy apartment. They were almost the same age and Fugo couldn't imagine wanting to take over the entire mafia. At least not anytime soon. He felt like he still had so much more to learn. Fugo liked to know all of the details and facts of a position before committing to something.

Trish was in the living room inspecting the items on Polnareff's bookshelf. She found a thick Linux book and slowly made her way through it. Fugo spent most of his time researching whatever was available online. There were few resources available on this subject, especially within easy access, in 2001. Little by little, the two made progress and was able to piece together something that worked.

"I'M IN!" Fugo shouted as the Linux desktop popped up on the screen. Giorno jolted awake, blinking and disoriented. Trish ran over to Mista and shook him awake. "WE'RE IN!" she rejoiced.

"Wha- how?" Mista slurred.

"Well, it was like," Trish pondered how to explain what it was they just did. "It was as if we took an entire dictionary, put all the words into a file along with common names and such. Then made a program that iterated through each word. It also made combinations of words, added numbers, etc. It's like trying millions of different password combinations at a fraction of the time it would take to manually enter them! Neat, huh?" She was hyped up on the coffee she had been making all night in Polnareff's coffee maker. She absently spun a blank CD around her finger.

Mista blinked. More nerd shit. He was thankful for it, but was surprised Trish was not only still awake but appeared to have helped and learned some things tonight. That was cool. "What was the password?"

"It ended up being a really simple one," Fugo said. "It was: Sherry."


	5. Photographs

"This Polnareff is an organized guy," Fugo said, admiring the well-labeled and organized folders and subfolders. "There are folders on the arrow, the mafia, maps and areas of interest… there's even a folder filled with subfolders on individual Stand users! Finding out what Stand users he's been keeping tabs on could give us a clue about who could have taken him. Wow, look how many there are!" he whistled. "He could have made a lot of powerful enemies. Or maybe there are friends in here we can contact."

"Fugo," Giorno whispered, sounding like something was stuck in his throat. He coughed once before continuing. "Could you start on that folder?" Giorno pointed to a folder titled 'Brando.'

"Sure. You know something? What hunch do you have?" Fugo clicked on it and started opening a few files in Dio's overstuffed folder. Giorno stayed silent as he watched the screen.

Trish could have sworn she'd seen the name Brando before… but where? It all came back to her the moment Fugo pulled up a file with a photo of the man himself at the top. She looked over at Giorno who was on his knees leaning so far into the flimsy fold-out table, she didn't know how he wasn't causing the entire thing to topple forward. His expression was that of a little kid's after running downstairs Christmas morning expecting to receive one or two small gifts but instead was in awe at a display under the tree that would rival a royal family's.

"So, it looks like this Dio Brando guy was a Stand user who got an arrow from some woman named Enya." Fugo read fast, quickly summarizing for everyone. "I think I saw a folder with her name on it, let me go ba-"

"WAIT," Giorno shouted while grabbing Fugo's arm.

Fugo winced and tried pulling his arm away, but Giorno's fingers were digging in too deeply. "Ok, fine, but please let go. What did you see?"

"C-can you read more? I, uh. I mean. We – " Giorno stumbled over his words. Everyone turned to look at him. Giorno slowly unhooked his fingers from Fugo's arm.

"You ok there, buddy?" Mista chuckled. "Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"What did you see?" Fugo asked again as he started reading where he left off.

"Giorno, do you know this Stand user?" Trish asked. Of course she knew Giorno did know this Brando, but the way he was acting was strange. Why wasn't he saying anything? She wanted him to tell them, but didn't want to back him in a corner in front of everyone.

"Damn, so check this out," Fugo announced. "This Dio guy apparently didn't have just one Stand, but was able to control several simultaneously. His main was called The World, but he could also use another called Hermit Purple." Fugo paused before whispering bitterly, "I want two Stands. Maybe we can find out how to get two Stands…"

Mista kicked the back of Giorno's shoes. Giorno turned to look up at Mista, who was raising his eyebrows in a dramatic fashion while nodding his head Fugo's direction. Mista's message was clear: They didn't want Fugo to know about Requiem Stands, they didn't know what kind of information were in these files, and he was potentially getting really close. They'd need to stay vigilent.

Giorno turned away from Mista. That didn't seem important anymore. "Is that right? Is that a typo?" Giorno jumped up and bumped Fugo's shoulder while pointing to Dio's birthdate: 1867. "Maybe it means 1967…"

Trish was convinced about her suspicions now. Since Giorno was the same age as her, his birthday must be sometime in 1985. If Dio was born in 1967, he would have been 18 then. His date of death was also listed as 1989 when Giorno was 3 or 4. The dates made sense.

Fugo swatted Giorno's hand away in irritation. "I don't _know_ , it says his Stand could stop time. Maybe that has something to do with it? Anyway, let me _read_!"

Giorno stood silently hovering over Fugo's shoulder like a vulture.

"So, this guy had an arrow and used it to make a bunch of Stand users who worked under him. He acquired an absurd amount of wealth within a short amount of time through involvement with various scams, robberies, murders, and illegal activities. Wow, this sure is familiar. Is this what you saw, Giorno? Do you think he could have been an accomplice to The Boss? They sure sound alike."

Trish was still watching Giorno, whose shoulders and expression were quietly drooping.

Mista pointed at the screen. "Whoa, NASTY, It says here, he put things called "flesh buds" in his own men's brains to mind control them and make _sure_ they were compliant. Sick, there are even pictures! Dude, **_look_** at that thing! Imagine if Diavolo had done that to us? The Boss is suddenly not sounding as bad," he chuckled before he caught Trish's eye and shrunk. "Sorry, Trish."

Fugo continued, "When Dio Brando died, police found over a hundred dead bodies within his mansion. There were many who had died from puncture wounds to the neck and blood drained from their bodies, but most of the bodies were found buried in the basement. Based on forensics, they were accumulating down there for a while. The majority were women who had gone missing, the rest were missing men. This is fucked up. Was he a cult leader performing human sacrifices? It's questionable whether he could be an accomplice to The Boss. He died in the late 80s, which is also when his group disbanded. Almost all of them were Egyptian. Still, his file is _long_ and it's going to take a while to read it all. We can read more later but I want to check Enya's folder for a minute. I want to know where these arrows came from, who owned them, and when."

Giorno didn't object this time and thoughtfully stared at a spot below the computer monitor. Trish comfortingly put a hand on his shoulder. He gave no indication of noticing as he got up, left the room, and walked to the bookshelf in the living room. Digging through Polnareff's books and computer supplies, he found what he was looking for: the stack of blank CDs Fugo and Trish were using earlier.

Trish clicked her tongue, annoyed at the complete disregard at her attempt to comfort him. Giorno would sometimes lock himself in his own head and she knew she should be used to that by now, but this was ridiculous. Fugo had even asked him several questions and Giorno hadn't bothered to respond. And now he was ignoring her, too! After everything they've been through, does he not trust them enough to open up? Does he think they wouldn't support him? Is he hiding something _else_ from them? Either of those options annoyed her.

Maybe it was the 5 cups of coffee she had drunk over the course of the night. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe how frustrating this whole situation was finally got to her, but in her annoyance, she did something she normally wouldn't have done. She walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. This time she gripped a little harder, daring him to ignore her again.

Giorno peered over his shoulder and looked at her hand. "Is there something you need?" he asked politely, while turning back to face the bookshelf. "I was about to ask Fugo to make backup copies of the files he's found."

"You know," she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, making the point that she knew something was up. Also, Mista and Fugo were in the next room and she wanted to make sure they wouldn't be able to hear. "It's not the end of the world to be related to an evil Stand user. I should know."

He spun to face her. His stare was alarmed and slightly accusatory as if silently asking her _'How the hell do you know?'_

Such a piercing gaze could make anyone uncomfortable, but her annoyance gave her the courage and stubbornness to stare back in return and raise her brows expectantly. She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. "I saw the photo in your wallet when you opened it at the airport outside Rome. You look like your father."

* * *

Giorno was 5 years old when he snuck into his parents' room late one Saturday afternoon. He was never allowed in the master bedroom and everything felt massive, intimidating, and unfamiliar as he tiptoed across the carpet, eyes scanning for the photo album his mother had shown him. One of the few times in his life he could remember her ever speaking to him longer than a few minutes was when she was fondly showing off photographs of his father she had saved. She had three.

 _"I was skinnier then, back before I had you," Shiobana had wistfully sighed as she pointed to a photo of her and Dio days before._

 _Giorno sat beside her on the living room couch and craned his neck to peer over her arm. In one of the photos, she wore a beautiful, shimmering red dress and her lovely dark hair was tied up to show off her long, graceful neck. Dio was standing next to her, a hand on her waist and a devilish smirk on his face. They both held wine glasses._

 _"He had so many admirers but he said I was his favorite," she raised a delicate hand to her chest, closed her eyes, and enjoyed reliving the memory. "He was the type to snap his fingers and be able to get anything in the world he desired, but I had him chasing me. Or was it the other way around? I can't remember," she giggled. "We were a lot alike. He once told me, 'You're overconfident, fearless, vain, and exceedingly self-serving. I like that.'" She paused to ruffle Giorno's black hair as he sat in her lap. "Your hair is different, but you look a little like your father. You have his nose. That's what I like most about you."_

This conversation obsessively replayed in his young mind all week. His mother said she liked him! He had to look at those photographs again. The photo album was easy to spot sitting almost alone on a near-empty bookshelf. Giorno pulled it from his mother's shelf and set it on the cushy chair in front of her vanity mirror. He hoisted his stomach onto the seat and struggled to pull his short legs up. Once up, he plopped the album onto the table and leaned forward to stare into the vanity mirror. Looking back and forth between the open photo album and the mirror, Giorno compared the smirking man in the photo to his own sullen face. His step-father had called him gloomy-looking. Giorno tried to mimic the effortless smirk of the man in the photograph, but ended looking more like someone who was being forced to smile at gunpoint. Maybe if he took the photos out of their protective covers, he'd be able to get a better look. He brought a headshot of Dio taken from the back close to his face and he wondered if his mother would let him grow his hair out like that. Probably! He was suddenly excited. Maybe she would like him even more!

"What the hell are you doing in here?" a gruff voice appeared from the bedroom doorway. "You've got no business in here."

Giorno jumped, lost his balance, and nearly toppled off his mother's chair. He stuffed the head shot into one of his over sized pants pockets while quickly and silently closing the photo album. His step-father's steps thumped louder as he approached while Giorno struggled to get his short legs back onto the floor. Mr. Giovanna ripped the album out of Giorno's hands and glared at a loose photo of Dio hanging halfway out between the pages. He opened the album and two photos fluttered to the floor. Mr. Giovanna picked them up, looked at them, looked at Giorno, then threw the album at the kid. The album struck Giorno in the arm. He cried out, more startled than injured, though the place where the book struck him stung.

"Your mother is still obsessed with this _dead_ man," Giorno's step-father growled as he shook the two photos of Dio at Giorno. "I'm right here, I'm ALIVE, but she still keeps shit like this!"

Giorno shrunk, uncertain about what to do. All he knew was his step-father was upset and it was all his fault. He should have never snuck into this room. He should have never touched the photo album.

"I overheard the bitch talking to her friends on the phone about him the other day. I'm not _stupid_. I know when I'm being treated like I'm second fiddle!"

"I-I'll put the book back," Giorno said. "I'm sorry! I don't think you're a fiddle…" He felt terrible. This was all a mistake.

"Stop acting so innocent, you sneaky little brat. I know your game, always trying to appease people and get into their heads. If you just grew a spine, you wouldn't have to use your sad little puppy eyes to manipulate people, you little bastard," Mr. Giovanna grumbled as he continued to glare at the photos of Dio.

Little Giorno stood still, not sure what to do. He didn't like making his step-father angry, so he always tried his best to keep him happy even if that proved impossible. But now that was bad? Giorno shivered, remembering the consequences of doing things his step-father thought was bad.

"You're a literal bastard," Mr. Giovanna laughed and Giorno tried to smile. He only managed a grimace. Mr. Giovanna's laughter died down as he held a photo of Dio over the top half of Giorno's head. "You look a little like him..." he said. He then looked the kid over as if appraising him.

Giorno froze and found himself unable to move or speak. He was confused. He was happy when his mother had said this, but now that his step-father was saying the same thing, he was afraid.

"What's with that look, little bastard? Are you looking down on me? Do you think your dead father was better than me? He's never coming back and your mother should have accepted this, but there are still things in this house that remind her of him." His step-father ripped up the two photos in his hands. Giorno watched the tiny pieces flutter to the ground as the man stepped closer.

Later, little Giorno sat in the middle of the floor in his room, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his arm as he tried to ignore the pain in his sides and back. He already knew his back was going to turn a particularly gross shade of purple. Sometimes the bruises turned a weird green color around the edges. He was curious about this – why green? Actually, now that he was thinking about it, why purple? He wondered who he could ask to get the answer to these questions. However, if he did ask someone, would they want to know why? He didn't want to get into trouble again. He didn't want to make his step-father upset. Maybe he could go to the library and ask a librarian where he could find medical books. He hoped they made some for kids because he couldn't read big words yet.

Giorno pulled the only surviving photo of Dio from his pocket and panicked spotting dents and crinkles on it. It must have been from when his step-father grabbed him and when he fell.

He went to his shelf which housed his small amount of toys, his frog stuffed animal, and a few books. He pressed the photo between two of his thickest books, hoping the photo could be saved.

Suddenly he heard footsteps and his mother barged into his room. "Giorno!" she exclaimed. She sounded angry. She rushed to him, fell to her knees, and grabbed both his shoulders. "Why did you tear up some of the photos in my album?" she cried.

Giorno was stunned and said nothing. What was going on?

"Your father told me all about it. How he caught you stealing photos from my album and ripping them up! How could you?" tears were now streaming down her face. "You knew how much they meant to me!"

"But I didn't…."

"Don't you lie to your mother," Mr. Giovanna appeared, leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed.

Giorno was suddenly terrified. He didn't want to lie to his mother, but he also didn't want to make his step-father upset. Frustration whirled around in his little brain. The only safe route he could think of was to stay silent.

"Stay in your room, there will be no dinner tonight, " his mother said as she slowly got to her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. "You will be grounded for the next few days, so no going outside and no tv. I can't believe you did this! You've hurt me very deeply, Giorno."

Giorno could hear his step-father consoling her even after the door to his bedroom was closed. The shock, fear, and pain Giorno felt at making his parents upset churned in his stomach. He could feel something else rise up within him. Rage leaked out of him in the form of hot tears and his little hands balled into fists. He didn't tear up those photos! He loved them almost as much as his mother did. This wasn't fair! No one ever listened to him! He knelt on the floor so he could peer in between his two books to check on the status of his photograph. It was looking better. At least, he thought it did. He couldn't really tell through the tears. There was one thing he did know: Neither of them would ever find this photo. This was _his_ now. He didn't mean to steal it, and he considered giving it back to his mother to make her happy again, but he knew his step-father would tear it up once he realized it had survived. It was better that it was left stolen.

Giorno sat on the floor as he thought about how his _real_ father would have never treated him this way. His real father looked like a cool guy who was big, strong, and friendly. If Dio was here, none of this would have happened. They'd be at dinner right now, a happy family like the ones you saw on tv. Dio would be fair all the time and wouldn't frame him for things he didn't do. He'd give Giorno advice, talk to him, listen, and wouldn't hit him quite so hard. Giorno wouldn't be afraid to ask Dio why bruises sometimes turned green around the edges.

* * *

Giorno stared at Trish in shock. Trish stared back and they both waited for a reaction or an explanation from the other. None came.

Trish now regretted springing this onto Giorno, chastising herself that there were more delicate ways to ask about the photo or the files. She just wanted to let him know he didn't need to keep everything to himself and that he had their support. Instead, he was looking at her as if she just slapped him and was waiting to see if she was going to do it again. "I'm sorry," she sighed, shyly looking away while her arms fell from their crossed position over her chest. "I know how hard it is to discover the truth about your father."

Giorno's eyes dropped hesitantly from her face to her hands.

Trish continued softly, "It's funny, you get all these ideas about what he must have been like. I liked to think my father was kind. After all, my mother loved him and she was a very kind woman. Even though he left and never returned, she'd speak kindly of him. She never stopped loving him." Trish peered back at Giorno and bit her lip. "I cycled between thinking he was dead, hit on hard times, was irresponsible, or a Casanova. I never expected… what he really was. I was afraid of him when I found out he was a mafia Boss, even before I found out he was trying to kill me. But I was also lucky to find a group of guys who had my back and made me feel safe," Trish tried to smile through her sorrowful, regretful expression. "I want you to realize you have that, too, Giorno."

Giorno willed himself to exhale, allowing his shoulders to naturally drop. After Buccellati's first confrontation with the Boss, the way Trish held herself as she spoke about finding who her father was and who she was even if it cost her father's life, it was cold, hard, and exactly the determination needed to take down the powerful Stand user. But now she was opening up in a new way, exposing something so personal and vulnerable. "When we first met you, you rarely spoke," Giorno began. Trish blinked in confusion at this seemingly unrelated tangent. "Buccellati forbade anyone from speaking to you and that seemed to suit you fine because you didn't seem interested in speaking to any of us, either," He suddenly found himself unable to keep eye contact with her.

"Giorno, what are you-"

"Later, you were determined to face your father _immediately_ after he tried to kill you." Giorno paused and took a deep breath. "I was impressed. I'd always pegged you for having a strong spirit, but I didn't expect that. None of us did because we underestimated you. You saw the ugly truth and bravely faced it and death in the face without hesitation. Now you're telling me what it felt like to be betrayed by him, and I can tell it still hurts you." He locked eyes with her again and Trish shifted.

"You've all proved to me that I can trust you. So I can tell you these things," she said quietly.

"And you're strong enough that any vulnerabilities you show only makes me see you as stronger and more confident than ever. That's remarkable." He watched as Trish's shoulders hunched a little higher than normal and her face flushed the same pink hue as her hair. Oh. He had embarrassed her. Maybe he said too much. Quickly, he added, "What you said about my father… it's ok, Trish. You saw the photo in my wallet, saw the Brando files, and made a comment about their connection. It's understandable. It just caught me by surprise." He was nervous as he tucked the stack of blank CDs under his arm so his shaking hands could turn the photo of Dio over so only the blank side could be seen in his wallet. "I need time to process this. Can you not say anything to the others at least until I'm able to read his entire file?"

Trish slowly nodded her head, suddenly feeling shy. "Sure," she squeaked out before clearing her throat. "But you do know all of us are here for you, right? Promise me you'll tell everyone else."

Before he could respond, all the lights in the apartment building went out and a crash was heard from the bedroom.


	6. SOS

_Warning: this chapter is a bit violent. There isn't anything worse than what you'd see in the Vento Aureo manga, but I wanted to warn you just in case..._

Chapter Text

When the lights went out and a crash of shattering glass was heard from the next room, Giorno knew there would be no time to wait for their eyes to adjust to the new darkness engulfing them. He ran to the wall of the apartment that faced the city streets and started turning plaster into drooping vines. He heard Mista tell Fugo to get behind him as clear as if they were both standing beside him. Giorno turned, expecting to see his friends, but no one was there.

Trish cautiously opened the apartment's front door and used Spice Girl to soften the walls so she could stretch and pull the door frame back, revealing more light from the hallway. Now with a decent amount of light coming in from both the streetlamps outside as well as from the hallway, Giorno and Trish were about to dash into the bedroom to join Mista and Fugo when the living room window exploded. They both crouched, hearing bullets but weren't sure if they were coming from the next room or from the window. In front of the broken window stood a man with short dark hair holding an outstretched hand toward the ceiling. The arm was slightly transparent, obviously part of a Stand. The curtains behind him fell. Giorno sensed that familiar current in the air that he had felt at the airport when Polnareff was taken. Despite the sudden vertigo washing over him, he was on his feet and was about to shout, "It's HIM! He's here!" but his voice was drowned by blood rising in his throat. He looked down and the curtain rod that had fallen a moment before was now embedded in his chest.

The man made a "tsk" noise, disappointed the kid had moved unexpectedly, so the rod wasn't sticking through Giorno's skull as intended. He dove into the dark kitchen. Trish, who hadn't noticed Giorno's injury, was on the intruder's heels. Spice Girl hit the floor under the man's feet, causing him to lose his footing as the floor sunk and stretched into the apartment below. It was dark in the kitchen and Trish didn't know the man's ability, so she erred on the side of caution by not peering into the pit she had created. She re-hardened the stretched floor so the sides would be too slick to climb and got to work softening the floor around the top of the pit just enough for Spice girl to pull the floor shut over it like a lid. The 'lid' was then hardened, trapping the man in a cocoon of hardwood panels and steel beams. "I got him!" Trish called out. She heard nothing but Fugo saying something from the next room and wondered if Giorno had gone to help in the bedroom. Instead, she found Giorno lying on his side in the living room with a metal rod sticking out of his back.

Trish knelt before Giorno, watching helplessly as he used Gold Experience to craft new flesh out of the metal pole in his chest all while unable to breathe. Giorno had once helped Trish from damage she had taken from Green Day so she knew Gold Experience's ability hurt like hell when it was healing someone and this pain was evident on her companion's face. Finally, he gasped and coughed up the blood that had pooled into his lungs. Trish gently patted his back more for comfort than anything else while she took cautious glances around the room and especially toward the kitchen in case her captive somehow found a way to free himself. "Good job catching that guy," Giorno eventually was able to croak out as Trish helped him back to his feet. She gently pulled the excess pieces of curtain rod from his back and chest and they fell off him. "Let's check on the others."

* * *

Mista and Fugo were in a bad spot. The only light in the room came from a single broken window and their eyes hadn't adjusted to the sudden darkness. Without being able to see a target, the best Mista could do was fire blind shots in the dark. The Pistols didn't have night vision. Fugo's Stand was too dangerous to use in enclosed spaces like a small apartment. Though Purple Haze would guarantee the immediate destruction of their attacker, it would most likely kill both Mista and Fugo in the process.

Mista reached for Fugo and told him to get behind him, but no voice came out of his mouth and his hand only met empty air. The room was deathly silent and Mista couldn't even hear himself breathing. He tried speaking again, "Fugo?" but again, there was nothing. He groped around in the darkness and finally found his companion's arm. A faint light suddenly came from outside the bedroom door, helping Mista see the shapes of objects in the room. Nothing seemed out of place besides the fact the universe suddenly forgot that sound existed. Mista looked over at Fugo, who seemed to be trying to say something, but neither of them could hear a thing. They resorted to hand signals. They would quickly inspect the room and the window, looking for either the Stand or its user, then check on Giorno and Trish.

Cautiously, Mista approached the window as Fugo lagged behind, inspecting the rest of the small, empty bedroom. Mista motioned for one of the Pistols to look out the window. The moment Number One peered around the corner of the window frame, a piercing, high-pitched ringing split through Mista's head. He grabbed his head, his left hand against his left ear and his gun pressed to his right. Number One dashed back inside the apartment and everything was silent again. The little Pistol was nodding vehemently and pointing at the window in the direction of Mista's right. So the Stand user was by the window. Mista remembered how the building looked from the outside when they first arrived: Most apartments had a balcony attached to two small doors leading in and out of an apartment's living room. Polnareff's bedroom and his neighbor's living room shared the same wall. The Stand user must be on the ledge of their neighbor's balcony.

Mista fired and Number One lept out the window to kick the bullet toward their attacker, but missed, distracted from the splitting pain ringing through his head. Mista fired again, and Number One missed again. Frustrated, he sent Number Three out the window to help. This only made the sound worse.

While this was going on, Fugo had opened the computer tower and was fumbling in the dark with a small screwdriver from Polnareff's desk to take out the hard drive. If they needed to quickly escape, he didn't want this information to fall into the wrong hands.

It wasn't long before Giorno and Trish rushed into the room and were met with the crushing silence. They noticed Mista holding his head in pain while shooting bullets out the window. Neither of them could ask what was going on. Giorno noticed Number One having difficulties outside the window while Number Three was inside, adamantly pointing to both the right and left of the window. Were there two Stand users outside? Giorno ran to the wall on the right side of the bedroom window and the moment his hands made contact with the plaster, the wall burst into a swarm of moths. Through a flurry of grey wings, Giorno locked eyes with a man who was in the process of moving off the ledge of their neighbor's balcony. A Stand, with the body of a man and the head of a bull, was planted in the man's back and bowed like a wilting flower over its user, its hands together as if in prayer. Its body was hollow, it's form only a golden, neon outline.

Gold Experience was immediately out, but a piercing screeching sound erupted through everyone's heads as the man jumped from the ledge and fell to the balcony of the apartment one floor below. Now out of GE's range, Giorno looked to the left to see if he could spot the second Stand user. His eyes widened when he recognized the man with the short dark hair. Trish was supposed to have captured him!

Mista aimed and fired at the user with the golden neon Stand just as the man's feet hit the concrete of the streets. Mista's bullets hit true and the man fell. The sound didn't stop. Meanwhile, Giorno noticed the dark-haired man didn't seem bothered at all by the sound, or maybe he wasn't hearing it. That's when he felt it again: a strange pull forward and for a moment Giorno thought he had been pulled right out of the apartment and half expected to fall to the streets below. However, he found himself still standing safely inside.

Standing directly behind Giorno, Fugo noticed the harddrive had suddenly disappeared out of his hands. The dark-haired man then jumped off the balcony, using the drooping vines Giorno had made earlier to quickly make his way down to the streets below.

The screeching noise still unceasing, Giorno roughly patted Mista on the shoulder and pointed to the second Stand user that was getting away. The man ducked under the balcony for cover and ran into an alleyway, but by then Sex Pistols had flown into position. Mista fired several times and his bullets landed true.

Trish was already using Spice Girl to soften the walls and floors to create a makeshift slide three stories down to the streets below. Once on street level, the noise had stopped, allowing Giorno to audibly tell Mista to come with him while Trish and Fugo should take care of the sound man. Mista and his bullets' long range would be the most useful against someone who could also fight from a distance.

"Be careful," Giorno told Mista as they approached the alleyway. "He may be injured, but earlier he shoved a curtain rod through my chest from across the living room."

Mista's eyes widened and looked down at Giorno's chest. It looked fine now, but he noticed under the light of a nearby streetlamp that the front of Giorno's jacket beneath his chest was dark with blood. "If he's too dangerous, I can just kill him right now," Mista said as he wiggled his gun in the air.

"Let's try to get information out of him first. You'll feel his ability if he activates it around you. If you feel any kind of current or electricity in the air or like you're being pulled somewhere, _move_. I don't think he can change the location of his attack if his victim moves unpredictably. Also, he seems to have a cooldown period. Otherwise, he would have attacked me more than once in the living room."

"He's down here!" some of the Pistols yelled as they turned the corner of the alley. That's when Giorno felt that stomach-dropping vertigo again. But… they're weren't even in sight of the man! Giorno and Mista were still standing around the corner from the alley. "MOVE!" Giorno yelled as he dove backwards. Giorno felt as if something grabbed his ankle and he fell, his back hitting hard against the ground. He looked down at his feet and saw a chain link fence towering above him. Giorno's ankle was fused with part of it. He looked over at Mista, whose entire body was almost completely bisected from the fence.

"Mista!" Giorno felt his stomach grow cold. He was reminded of Narancia, skewered by a metal grate.

"Shit, I'd shoot the guy through the head for this but I can't seem to move my arms too well. Also, I can't see," Mista said.

Giorno was relieved Mista was still alive, but was panicking at the sight of the fence fused with Mista's head and spine. The fence around Giorno's ankle turned into three bats, who quickly flew away. Now freed, he went to work to heal Mista.

"Don't worry about me, buddy, just get that guy. You gotta get him while his Stand power is in cooldown," Mista protested when he felt that familiar pain of Gold Experience working on him.

Giorno ignored the comment, concentrating on making sure Mista no longer had anything fused through his head, spine, or internal organs. By the time he was satisfied his friend wasn't going to die on him anytime soon, the man in the alleyway had disappeared along with the hard drive.

Deflated, the two made their way back to Fugo and Trish, who had captured the second Stand user. They were in the alleyway on the opposite side of the building and standing a decent distance away from the enemy Stand user. As Giorno and Mista approached, they saw why: Purple Haze hunched over their captive and Fugo was threatening him. Trish had sunken the man's lower body into the ground then re-hardened the sidewalk around him. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Pull out your Stand and you're dead," Fugo growled. "Who are you working for?"

"Shit, man, you got me," the man leaned back with his hands resting on the cement. His attitude was much too casual for someone stuck in the ground while getting drooled on by Fugo's Stand. "I suppose if I don't talk, you'll torture me for the information, eh? Well, I'm not working for nobody, just as you all work for nobody. The Boss is no more."

"How do you know this? Have you been spying on us?"

"Obviously," the man began casually picking his nose.

"What do you want?"

"Same as you."

"And what's that?"

"Someone's gotta be the new Boss, yea-?" He was cut off when a large knife materialized through his forehead, instantly killing him.

"He's still here!" Giorno shouted and the group scattered in all directions, seeking out the other Stand user. As the seconds ticked by, dread grew in the pit of everyone's stomachs as Giorno explained to Trish and Fugo from a slight distance everything he knew and suspected about its user's abilities. After 15 minutes of searching, the group warily wondered if the man had finally moved on and escaped for good. They decided to move to a new location as well, as soon as possible.

"Looks like we've got some rivals," Mista said. "Fugo was right about other Stand users wanting to fill the power vacuum."

Fugo ignored Mista's comment because of _course_ he was right. "Did you feel the after effects of that other Stand user's power? It felt like a current in the air. If his Stand has any resulting magnetic field properties, it's possible it could have just wiped the hard drive he just stole."

The expression on Giorno's face took Fugo by surprise. He anticipated Giorno would be upset, but he was looking at Fugo as if he had just told him that someone close to him had been murdered.

"Well… that's only a possibility," Fugo quickly interjected. "I don't know for sure how his Stand works."

Giorno's chest ached as he thought about the lost information. What they had read tonight was only a fraction of what was written about Dio Brando. Every fiber of Giorno's being craved to know more. Then he thought about something worse: The possibility that none of the information was erased and their unknown enemies were about to find out about Requiem Stands…

* * *

The Stand user who controlled sound was precise in where he allowed sound to be or not be. No one else seemed to have noticed any strange, piercing noises even though it was deep into the night.

None of them knew what to do with the dead body in the alleyway, so Trish sunk him lower into the ground, burying him completely. She felt bad, thinking he might have a family who would be looking for him. The group noticed Trish's face contorted with guilt and disgust and promised her they'd come back for him and place him somewhere where he could be properly found. Well, if they had time.

The group cautiously returned to the apartment building to check the pit Trish had made around her ex-captive. The power was still out. One of the Stand users must have hit the breakers or destroyed electrical wires somewhere. Luckily, the person who lived below Polnareff wasn't home so they were free to inspect the scene undisturbed. There, in the faint light of the streetlights shining through the hole in the wall Giorno had created, they found a gash in one side of the pit. Before Trish was able to harden the floor, her captive had slashed an opening with a large knife that was now sticking through the head of the dead man buried in the alley.

They quickly returned to Polnareff's apartment to gather all the papers littering the place, hoping to find anything of use. Once there, Trish handed Giorno one of Polnareff's shirts so he wouldn't scare civilians with the blood staining the front of his torso the next morning. Polnareff had a lot of… unusual clothes, so the only thing she could grab quickly and know for sure it would fit was an over-sized black t-shirt. Polnareff sure did like black shirts. Giorno's smaller frame appeared to be drowning in it.

Giorno wasn't content to abandon his search for the Stand user and insisted on continuing to search the city. He was obsessed, unwilling to rest until he found something. For the rest of the night, throughout the next day, and into the next night they searched. On edge and on high alert, they expected to be ambushed at any moment. Movement was also difficult in some regions since much of Rome was still blocked off and quarantined. The chaos a few days ago had left the people feeling panicked, but a trepid hope was beginning to grow in the silence of any further outbreaks.

* * *

Exhausted after almost 20 hours of searching, Fugo and Trish settled into their new hotel room far outside the city. Fugo slumped in a chair next to a small desk where Polnareff's papers were stacked into neat piles. They hadn't found much. A few locations on maps Polnareff had found interesting were circled, but they hadn't found anything at any of these locations. Trish sprawled across one of the two queen-sized beds, her feet aching. Why did all of her shoes have to have heels?

"Mista and Giorno should be back soon," Fugo said. "They can't be out all night. Right?"

Trish shrugged. "Hey, I'm curious. How long have you known Mista and Giorno?"

"Hmm. For Mista, it's been about a year now. For Giorno, a few days. He joined us about a week ago," Fugo turned on the tv and switched to the news station, the volume on low.

"Really? Only a week? So you've known him about as long as you've known me, then…"

"Yeah, he got his Stand from our Capo at the time, Polpo, and joined our team the day we first met you."

"He didn't have a Stand before he joined?"

Fugo shook his head. "We all got our Stands from Polpo. That's how it was. I can't imagine it was any different for him."

" _I_ didn't get my Stand from Polpo."

"Yeah, but… you're _the Boss's daughter._ You're different."

Trish fell quiet before continuing. "Fugo…"

"Hmm?"

"Why does Giorno want to take over my father's position?"

"He told me he wanted power. He's ambitious." Fugo shrugged.

"Yeah, but… why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Normal people don't dream of becoming mafia bosses when they grow up."

"If you haven't noticed, none of us are normal," Fugo chuckled.

Trish sighed at his teasing, wanting to throw a pillow at him in frustration. "You know what I mean!"

"I don't know, Trish, you should ask him." Fugo leaned back and stretched, his back aching. "I'm here to support you guys and help you find your friend, but I'll be assimilated into another team soon once things settle down. I made my choice on that shore… I'm with Passione. I don't know if Giorno will succeed in becoming Boss or not. If he does, I will support him. But there's a possibility he'll fail and end up wrecking the mafia even more in his grab for power. Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing your father was defeated. He sounded like an asshole and I'm glad you're safe. But so many innocent lives were lost. They're _still_ counting the dead bodies in Rome and everyone's jobs and lives within Passione have been turned upside down. A Civil War isn't what I signed up for. Mista and Giorno were no longer part of the gang the moment they betrayed the Boss, who sent word to many Stand users within Passione to take them out. I'm not sure if the Boss's defeat makes either of them still part of the gang or just a group of rebels on the outside. Actually, I don't even know what you're doing here, Trish. You've never even been part of Passione. You should go home and lead a normal life now that your father is gone."

"I thought you said none of us were normal," Trish grinned and Fugo scoffed, though a deep sadness filled Trish's chest. Of course she wasn't normal. Too different than regular people, but too normal for Passione. Did she belong anywhere anymore? And of course Fugo wouldn't consider her part of the group. He wasn't there when she joined forces with Buccellati's team on her own decision and merits. He doesn't know how she stood before them and told them she'd help them by giving them information about her father, even though they felt bad for her and didn't want her to get involved. Back then, they all had the same goal: to find her father. And now they still had the same goal: to save Polnareff. She fought with them, developed her Stand because of them, watched their friends die, and wasn't about to sit back while another friend was in peril. Fugo wasn't around to see any of that. He didn't know who she was or what she had been through, so she couldn't fault him for trying to brush her off like this, even if he was trying to look out for her. All Fugo saw was the girl he knew before he left the group: a silent, weak person that was nothing more than an escort job. Everyone except Giorno and Buccellati celebrated getting rid of her once the group first reached her father in Venezia. They casually talked about where they would go for lunch that day as she shivered down to her soul, terrified over her upcoming meeting with the devil.

Trish was quiet, thinking about their outsider status, before asking, "If we _are_ rebels on the outside, and you still want to be on the inside, is it dangerous for you to be helping us like this?"

"It certainly isn't going to look good on my "resume", if you know what I mean, but it depends on what happens when Passione calms down. If whoever next in charge was sympathetic towards the old Boss, it's not going to look good for them. If whoever in charge doesn't care about the old Boss, then it might be easier for them to return. When I get reassigned somewhere else within Passione, I'll do my best to make a positive influence so they can be welcomed back. Either way, I'm hoping it was too dark for that guy who got away earlier to get a good look at me. It's also why I wanted to search Rome on my own and not stick with the group once daylight arrived."

"So you're taking a risk by being here." Trish paused. "Thank you."

Fugo gave a simple "hmm" in response as he readjusted his tie. He pressed again, "You're risking a lot, too. You should really go home and be normal."

Trish thought about her empty, trashed apartment and how not normal that was. She thought about her school friends who could never understand what she just went through. She thought about these boys who _could_ understand her, but at the same time, she really didn't know much about them. Yet here she was. She had nowhere to go but she couldn't stop thinking about that morning when her father disappeared. His spirit lingered on in her mind and in her fears. She thought about Giorno not able to keep pace with her and Mista as he watched them approach the fallen Buccellati. He looked like a piece of himself had died with the man lying on the ground. Trish knew what that felt like. She needed to be around people who could understand.

"You're really insisting I go away and be normal! Maybe because _you_ wish to be normal again?" Trish's tone was playful, but she had asked it in seriousness.

"No. I don't mean to sound like I'm bragging, but I grew up in a really rich family. They expected a lot from me, which was easy to fulfill when I was 13 because school was really easy for me. But none of that helped me because I had a lot of issues that no one could see until it was too late. I couldn't control my anger and I hurt a lot of people. I ruined my own life. In Passione, I can at least put the thing that destroyed my life to some use."

"Why were you so angry?" Trish turned to lay on her belly as she watched Fugo.

"You sure are nosy, aren't you?" Fugo sighed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." Silence fell between the two.

A deep sense of disappointment washed over Trish as some of the progress she thought she had made with Fugo during their conversation was cut short. Her question must have been too personal. She let it drop, but that didn't stop her from sulking about it as she stared at the ceiling and listened to the newscasters discussing quotes from scientists who were trying to find causes for the problems in Rome. The silence was interrupted when Giorno and Mista entered the room.

"We didn't find _anything_ ," Mista groaned. "I'm exhausted! Pooped! Speaking of which, I need to take a leak…" Mista made a beeline to the bathroom.

Giorno sat at the edge of the bed by Fugo and quietly rested his elbows on his knees.

"So, I have a theory…," Fugo approached Giorno. "…the one who stole Polnareff at the airport didn't get on a plane out of the city, but instead is stationed here in Rome. The only times you've encountered this Stand user is around this area, right? I'll bet they are part of the Boss's team in Rome. A lot of their men, Stand users or not, probably got wiped out and they're struggling. The Stand user killed by a knife through the head had some kind of ability concerning sound. He could have possibly used it to overhear something during or after your battle with the Boss and because of that, they became interested in that turtle for whatever reason."

Giorno's expression became serious, his jaw clenching.

"It's going to be difficult to find information about Stand users in Rome while living outside of the gang," Fugo continued. "You already know there are enemies here, but you don't know who they are or how many there are. We could have passed members of our enemy's team without even realizing it today. I propose that I return to Naples where I'll use any contacts I have within Passione there to gather more information about Stand users in this area. You can come with me, or you can stay here and keep searching for more information at ground zero. If you decide to stay here, I imagine you'll be moving a lot, so you can call me every day at my apartment for status reports."

"I want to stay here and keep searching," Giorno said. "No matter how many Stand users there are, I'll encounter all of them if I have to. Stand users seem drawn to one another, so it shouldn't be too long before another makes an appearance. As for you going back to Naples to gather information from the inside, that sounds like a great idea. Thank you, Fugo," Giorno looked up at him with a warm gratitude.

Fugo nodded and his expression was that of someone particularly pleased with himself. He could now go home, prepare for his next step in life, all while still helping the group.

"Hey, so does anyone need the bathroom right now because I want to shower," Mista poked his head out around the corner. "Also, can some of us get some sleep because I don't know how much longer I can run around tonight."

Everyone agreed to take it easy for the rest of the night and the atmosphere in the room relaxed.

"I'll take the first shift to keep an eye out in case we get attacked in the middle of the night," Giorno offered. "I want to look over some of Polnareff's maps to plan where to search tomorrow morning, anyway."

"Sure, I'll take second watch," Mista said. "Also… so, um, there are two beds here. Fugo, let's let Trish have a bed to herself. Agreed?

"Sure," Fugo shrugged.

Trish smiled at their politeness, appreciating that they were considering her comfort. "Thank you, guys."

"Don't get the wrong idea," Mista said playfully. "We just don't want your _cooties_! Right, Fugo?"

Fugo sighed in response, a pained expression on his face, and Trish's grin broadened.

* * *

Trish took the longest to get ready for bed and by the time she came out of the shower, everyone else but Giorno was asleep. It was quiet save for some faint snoring coming from Mista.

"What are you thinking about?" Trish asked Giorno who was hunched over the small desk. The only light in the room came from a small lamp illuminating Polnareff's maps. Trish pulled up another chair and sat down next to him as she dried her hair with a towel.

"Where we can live and for how long. Now that the turtle is gone, we don't have a discreet, reliable place to hide, rest, or have shelter. Our enemies know the location of Polnareff's apartment, so staying there won't be safe. I had expected to have already attained my goal at this point by using- " Giorno suddenly cut himself off as he peered over at the sleeping Fugo. "It's been days, I should have taken Diavolo's position by now."

Trish absently picked at the corners of the towel now around her shoulders. "What if... you start trying to take it tomorrow?"

Giorno had been so hyper-focused on tracking down the Stand user who had stolen Polnareff, and again hyper-focused on tracking down the same user who had stolen the hard drive, that he hadn't considered that option. He blinked, now considering it. "If I had a position at the top, I would have more power, resources, and manpower to find Polnareff..." he thought aloud. But was it feasible?

"I was wondering…" Trish said quietly. "Why do you want my father's position so badly?"

"Huh?" Giorno had to forcibly pull himself away from analyzing whether he had the power right now to become the new Boss. How many Stand users were left and how many would oppose him? Should he try it right away or should he wait for more intel from Fugo? "Well, the Boss's position is the place where I can most efficiently make the most change."

"Why not more legitimate positions like the police force or the government? There, you could put people in jail or change laws to fight corruption."

"The police and parts of the government are corrupt themselves and sick with mafia influence. The mafia has become a cancer to society, entrenched in everything that holds power over people. The police and government officials accept bribes and turn a blind eye to evil, or they cave to threats. If I joined the police force or eventually became a government official, I wouldn't have as much power or inside information concerning my true goal. Becoming Boss is faster and more efficient. I also see no use waiting until I'm an adult before I'm able to make changes in society."

"And once you make your changes, you'll still run the mafia?"

"Of course."

Trish frowned. "I remember what you told us at the Colosseum. You said you wanted to help Rome recover from the Stand battles we fought. You wanted to stop any selling of drugs to kids. You also wanted to put a stop to human trafficking. Those are all good goals. But after that, then what?"

"What do you mean? I'll maintain my position."

"If you find other crimes against innocent people that the mafia is part of, you'll put a stop to it?"

"Yes, of course."

"And what if crimes against innocent people are fundamentally part of _every_ aspect of the mafia? Will you destroy the entire thing?"

Giorno thought about the man who saved him as a child and wondered where he was now. Was he dead? Giorno suddenly wanted to track him down and visit him. Once he became Boss, Giorno would give him the nicest, cushiest job he could to thank him. "Not _every_ aspect of the mafia is worth destroying." Not when there were people like that man out there… "There is still some good."

Trish watched Giorno's thoughtful, faraway expression while declaring there was good in the mafia. It was like he had stars in his eyes. They were so bright, they blinded him. "One of the most common ways the mafia makes money is through extortion. They tell people they'll "protect" them for a charge, but the message between the lines is clear: the mafia will unleash violence upon the people if they don't cough up enough money."

Giorno furrowed his brow in thought. "When I was little, a man in the mafia saved me. No one else cared, not even the police. But he did. You'll see once things have been cleaned up and the right people are in charge. I dislike extortion, too, but things like gambling rings are going to happen no matter what, so why not capitalize on it? Right before the mafia formed, the people of Sicily came together to look after each other during a series of foreign invaders. The conquerors brought with them corrupt authorities who mistreated the people. Distrust of government was high, families were seen as most important, so disputes were settled outside the law. I like that. It's true the mafia would later emerge to replace the broken feudal system, the capos being the newest, more corrupt versions of the old feudal lords, and would force people to pay unfair fees else face violence. I won't tolerate any of that. But if I can accomplish something that works outside the corrupt government to protect those who are weak, does it matter if it's funded by selling illegal goods to willing adult consumers?"

Trish wasn't sure what to think, but she did know the mafia was like a disease and couldn't imagine cleaning up a strand of polio to the point where it was no longer harmful to its host. "I don't agree with everything you're saying, but I do like the spirit behind your ideals. I do hope you can bring positive change… it seems impossible but I saw you defeat my father, which was also thought to be impossible. I'm cautious and a little skeptical, but I'm looking forward to see what this vision in your head looks like in real life," Trish found that while she thought Giorno was being a bit foolish and naive, she was starting to like his starry idealism. He had goals, a drive, and a future to strive for. He was trying to do something good with his life and was risking everything to achieve it. She also thought how similar their situations were. She used to be a weak girl who was saved by mafia men, too. Though, while she liked and was grateful to a few specific men, that didn't mean she had to accept the organization that employed them. She looked over at the sleeping Mista and Fugo. They were both kind to her, but she knew very little about them. They had been taking orders from people like her father for a long time now. How different would it be with Giorno in charge? She liked Giorno just fine, but this was the _mafia_! The mafia _is_ a cancer, and she wondered whether the starry-eyed boy sitting next to her would be able to change it for the better, or if its evil would influence and further corrupt the darker parts of his heart. And she still didn't know where all this drive was coming from. Was Giorno doing this only because of the inspiration of one man? "Who was the man who saved you?"

"I don't know his name or much about him," Giorno's body, tone, and entire demeanor relaxed whenever he thought or spoke about his savior. "I haven't even seen him in years. He was against anything that would harm women and children. He'd go out of his way to help someone in need and wasn't afraid of fighting anything that went against his ethics. I looked up to him."

Trish slowly raised her brows, wondering if this man was to Giorno what Buccellati's gang was to her. Dio seemed like an evil person who wouldn't want someone around who could track his location… did Dio try to destroy Giorno like her father tried to destroy her? She lowered her voice to a whisper on the off-chance the others were awake, She leaned in close. "Did this man have anything to do with saving you from _your_ father?"

"…Technically, yes." Giorno shifted nervously.

Trish's mouth hung open. "You mean…?"

"No, it's not what you think." He quickly said while turning away. She was too close. "My step-father was an angry person, but no Stands were involved. You had it much worse."

Trish placed a hand on Giorno's arm, trying to turn him back to face her again. "It doesn't matter who had it worse." She said gently, "What did your step-father do?"

Giorno peered at her curiously and then turned his entire body to face her. He glanced down at her hand still on his arm, then rested his gaze on her face in contemplation. Giorno thought about how much he had wanted someone to ask him, 'What's wrong?' whenever he was in pain from the bruises his step-father and his bully "friends" would leave on him. He didn't want coddling or pity, but one friend asking him, 'What did your step-father do?' would have been an oasis of concern in a desert of apathy. Some people saw what was happening but said nothing. Even his own mother, when she saw bruises on him, never bothered to ask him about it, and he didn't have a strong enough relationship with her to trust that he would be listened to or believed even if he did say something. Everyone was silent. Everyone except that one man who had saved him, who spoke in action.

It was nice to actually hear warm words from someone, complimented by a warm hand on his arm. And it was coming from someone who deeply understood and sympathized what it was like to be harmed and rejected by a parent. She wouldn't pity him, only quietly understand. Trish was learning in close, attuned and listening. His tongue felt stuck in his mouth while his mind tried to figure out how to convey this in a neat, concise package.

"Um. What is it?" Trish withdrew her hand after they stared at each other quietly for a moment too long. Giorno frowned. Trish wondered if she went too far with her questions again. Did he now think she was nosy like Fugo did? She began to chastise herself, thinking _of course_ she shouldn't ask such personal questions. She was too curious. It's not like she was going to be around them forever. She was here to help save Polnareff while staying with fellow Diavolo survivors as a desperate attempt to heal. After that… well, she'd probably become a ward of the state and be given foster parents. She wasn't particularly looking forward to being handed off to _more_ strangers right now.

Giorno was disappointed with himself that he hadn't answered quickly, making Trish feel awkward enough to pull away from him. He wanted to repair that moment of connection so he reached out and took her hand, pulled it towards him, and enclosed her hand between both of his.

Trish held her breath. What was he doing? Trish's pulse increased and all her thoughts turned to white noise. It was both shock and curiosity that kept her mouth shut and her body frozen in her seat.

"You're a kind person. I could see that when you complained to Narancia because you thought Buccellati was too cold to him. You wanted Narancia to be treated kindly because you value warmth in people, especially in those you like," Giorno said. "I appreciate your warmth and concern."

Trish's mind tumbled in confusion as she stared at their hands. Was he coming onto her? Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just an overly-forward person. Maybe he was all of these. She couldn't tell. "I'm just curious about the people who saved me," she said nervously. Slowly, she pulled her hand away and Giorno's shoulders dropped in disappointment.

"In Buccellati's group, we saved each other all the time. I don't know much about Mista, but what I do know is enough: He's trustworthy, fights hard, is superstitious, and enjoys boisterous conversations over lunch. I think he feels I'm trustworthy and hard-working as well. But you're looking for deeper information."

"It's normal to want to get to know your friends on a personal basis," Trish was flustered, not understanding why Giorno was making a big deal about this.

"Hmm, I suppose so." Giorno said thoughtfully and Trish relaxed, though her heart still pounded. Giorno was nervous as well, his mind going in several different directions while he tried to choose what to say next.

"Well! I should head to bed!" Trish suddenly stood, her limbs feeling stiff as if she forgot how to move them like a normal person instead of a robot. This snapped Giorno out of his thoughts as he realized from the pink tint of Trish's face that he ended up making her uncomfortable again. He was about to say something when she took a few steps back and tripped over one of the legs of her bed.

"Whoops," Trish giggled nervously. She then cringed at herself for her awkward giggling. Whoops? God, what was wrong with her? A good night's sleep would reset whatever was going on with her emotions right now. She was looking forward to the morning when she'd be back to normal.

"I – " Giorno began but Trish had already dove under her blankets and pillows. "Buona notte," he said as he slowly turned his back to her, returning to his maps.

A tiny, muffled "buona note," responded from the pile of blankets that was Trish.

After a few hours of Giorno periodically scanning the room for anything suspicious, Mista awoke and relieved him of his duty as watchman. Once asleep beside Fugo, Giorno dreamed of Trish sitting in a gondola gently floating between the buildings of Venice. She pulled from the water a yellow starfish softly shining like the moon and handed it to him. "It reminds me of Gold Experience," she said. "I wonder if there are any pink ones for Spice Girl…" She peered back into the water.

Giorno was delighted at the shining star slowly wiggling in his hands. Then, its light began to fade. His brow furrowed in concern as he turned the starfish over and watched the creature slowly turn black. He looked up to tell Trish, but she was gone.

* * *

 _Author's note: Could you guess the name of the Stand whose user died in this chapter?_ _watch?v=Bk7RVw3I8eg_ _(Here's my favorite cover!)_


	7. Hi Billy Mays Here For Chapter 7

"Did you know some people don't like wine? Heretics, all of them," Mista said as he mixed ingredients for the eggplant parmesan he was preparing in Fugo's kitchen.

Giorno had changed his mind about staying in Rome and opted to go back to Naples where he could prepare his takeover of the mafia. Fugo had returned to Naples on a separate train than Giorno, Mista, and Trish, but still planned to gather information about Stand users in Rome by using his contacts at home. All this was temporarily placed on hold, however, because right now the group was looking forward to their first real meal in days. Lately, their diet predominately consisted of whatever they found at airport restaurants, hotel cafes, and convenience stores. Mista insisted they take the early afternoon off so he could cook for everyone and properly fuel their exhausted bodies. Giorno wasn't sure they had the time, but Fugo convinced him Mista's cooking was worth it.

"How'd you learn to cook so well?" Trish asked Mista while they huddled in Fugo's tiny kitchen where Mista was head chef and everyone else played as his assistants.

"I used to cook a lot for my family. I have five siblings so I helped out a lot around the house," Mista proudly smiled. This smile faded when he caught sight of the mess Giorno was making from chopping a simple tomato. "That looks fucking awful, dude. Trish, can you please teach him how to properly use a knife? Just. What the fuck, was he raised in a _barn_?" Mista shook his head, then continued his original topic of discussion, " _Anyway_ , apparently, the number of taste buds you have affects what foods you like or dislike. People with way too many tend to not like wine because they taste too much of the alcohol… but also because they're sensitive little babies who can't handle a simple drink. I have an average taste, which is why I can make such great food. My palette is perfectly in the center so I'm able to make something everyone can enjoy!"

Trish thought a more sensitive palette would make for a better chef, but what did she know?

"I buy that. It's obvious you wouldn't have a sensitive taste," Fugo said as he finished pouring a bit of wine into the marinara sauce on the stove.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mista looked hurt. "You always seemed to like my food before!"

"I like your food just fine. It's really good. But did you know your sense of taste is directly connected to your sense of smell?"

"What are you trying to say?" Mista's tone darkened as he tightly gripped his wooden stirring spoon.

"I'm saying you can be a smelly slob." Fugo put down the bottle of wine.

Mista suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Fugo into a headlock. Fugo wrapped one of his arms around the back of Mista's head, grabbed his face, then kicked out the back of Mista's knees. They both collapsed to the floor into a wrestling heap.

"Fuck you, man, you take that back!" Mista yelled.

"I won't deny the truth!" Fugo yelled back.

Giorno and Trish stared at the two rolling around on the floor in shock, but it was obvious by the way the two fought that they were both holding back. It was a rowdy, but good-natured fight. Trish quickly jogged to the stove to turn down the heat on the stove top, unsure how long this fight would last. She then returned to Giorno and his tomato he had reduced into a crushed puddle of juice. "You have to use a sawing motion, especially since that knife isn't very sharp," Trish instructed. "NO, be careful, you have to curl your fingers when you cut or you won't have any fingertips!" she grabbed a tomato and showed him how to properly do it.

"Oh. I get it now," Giorno said as he watched and mimicked her.

"Right!" she smiled. "Mom taught me a lot about cooking while growing up. When… when she got sick, it was mostly me cooking for the two of us." She discreetly peered up at him from behind her fringe that had fallen over her eyes. She assumed neither his dead father nor his "angry" step-father had taught him much of anything, which would explain why he didn't know how to do something as simple as chop a tomato, but what about his mother? Giorno's face had hints of what looked to be East Asian descent, which Trish could now confidently assume he got from his mother's side. Where was she? Was she dead like Trish's mother? She hoped mentioning her mother would get him talking about his own.

"How are you doing, Trish?" he asked instead. "You weren't given much time to mourn your family, you haven't mentioned anything about it in a long time, and we've kept you really busy since you've been with us. You'll tell us if it's too much, right?"

Her first instinct was to tell Giorno that everything was fine. She wanted to appear strong, in control, and detached. Detachment and apathy meant strength, right? She used to think that was true but now she wasn't sure anymore. She was past the point where she wanted to hide everything from these boys, so she told the truth. "I once heard that when a loved one dies, it doesn't fully hit you until later. It's like your mind tries to protect itself while giving you the time you need to get everything in order. I feel really sad sometimes… ok, a lot, but I know the worst is yet to come. That's why I need to use the time I have right now to do everything I can to help Polnareff and to help all of you. I'd rather spend this time helping my friends than wallow alone somewhere waiting in anticipation for it all to hit me full force."

Giorno nodded thoughtfully. She was handling the crisis in her life remarkably well, and the difficulties she was facing made him all the more thankful for her help. "You've been helping us a lot. Without Spice Girl trapping that Stand user the other night, things would have ended badly when we were ambushed."

"If it wasn't for you guys, my father would have killed me days ago. Consider us even," Trish smiled in appreciation and he smiled back.

He thought how nice it was to have Trish around. Her presence was comforting. "After all this is over, I hope we can still see you. You don't have to be involved in the mafia, but… if we could visit from time to time, that would be nice."

They finished chopping up their tomatoes and one more remained. They both reached for it at the same time and Trish quickly pulled back her hand before they touched.

Giorno relaxed his hands on the kitchen countertop as he turned to Trish in sudden seriousness. "Pericolo told us when we first met you that you didn't like to be touched. Last night, I may have gone too far. After our fight with Diavolo, I noticed how you and Mista would casually hold onto each other, but that must have been your comfort and familiarity with each other after switching bodies. I assumed too much, thinking you would be as comfortable around me as well. I'm sorry."

"Oh. No, it's ok," Trish chuckled awkwardly while a slick tomato chunk slipped out of her hand. Great, she was nervous again. She considered brushing everything off by telling him it wasn't a big deal and they should just forget about it and never speak of it again. That certainly would be the easiest option in the short term, but she had to admit she _had_ been thinking about it and whenever she did, she felt a dull, looming awkwardness whenever he was nearby. Not talking about it could potentially lead to some frustrating, unnecessary misunderstandings, so she took a deep breath and told the truth. "To be honest, part of me wondered if you were hitting on me. I know it's silly and presumptuous, but the thought made me nervous. No offense, I'm not saying I wouldn't like it, as if I find you repulsive or anything. I mean! No, I don't find you repulsive, quite the opposite. You've always been nice to me and you're cute enough but _I mean_ Haha nowayyouwoulddosomethinglikethat, right?" Trish now regretted opening her mouth as the result was a fumbled mess of tangled words. Meanwhile, all Giorno was doing was looking at her with a contemplative expression. She dreaded how much he was probably judging her, all while reading way too much into how nervous she was right now. She wanted to scream, "I'm not nervous!" at him as if that would make all her feelings go away, she'd return to being cool and collected, and Giorno would forget any of this ever happened.

Giorno was considering her words. He'd never flirted with someone before and had never been interested in anything of the sort. He acted charming to the tourists he'd rob at the airport, but those were fake, hollow niceties that were as meaningful and aggressively persistent as the words of a greasy used car salesman. Though he was sure some people did approach flirting in the same vein as trying to convince someone to buy a broken car, he'd always assumed the real deal would be different, though he wasn't sure how. Probably just being yourself and honestly expressing an interest in someone while hoping they'd reciprocate, he concluded now that he was thinking about it. Had he accidentally done that, causing Trish to think he'd been hitting on her? She certainly was attractive, though this was simply a fact about her and any lingering feeling he had about this fact was simply a normal response to appreciating something beautiful. It wasn't important enough to think about while everyone was fighting for their lives. He did admire her for her strong spirit and bravery, but he also felt the same about Mista. Once her Stand manifested, she carried herself differently and she had a lot more confidence, which highlighted her positive traits. He had noticed he was especially attracted to the small moments when she'd express warmth, something that was dreadfully lacking in this world, and something he would like to feel again. Did all that count as romantic attraction or was it just platonic admiration? He wasn't sure and this uncertainty bothered him.

He was about to respond with "Hitting on you wasn't my intention…" when Trish's brows rose in "realization." She had taken his lack of an immediate answer and the few seconds of silent staring, which seemed to stretch into eternity, as confirmation of her suspicion.

"OH MY GOD, REALLY?" She slapped her hands over her mouth when Mista and Fugo stopped fighting and looked over at her sudden outburst. Mista had shoved the skinny end of his wooden spoon up one of Fugo's nostrils and Fugo took the lull in the fight as an opportunity to shove the spoon away.

Trish's lips drew into a thin line, upset she had brought attention onto herself at the worst possible time. She felt pleased about the possibility of Giorno liking her, but she chastised herself for enjoying it. Realistically, she thought, anything that could develop between them would never work out. They were from two different worlds and if they were to get involved, the similarities between her and her mother's romantic choices scared her. "Stop staring and go back to your fighting!" she flung a few cloves of garlic at the two on the floor.

Mista laughed as the garlic harmlessly bounced off him. "Wow, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Giorno and Trish answered simultaneously. Giorno's voice was calm and innocent while Trish sharply barked out her word. They looked at each other and Trish shyly turned away.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Everyone froze except Fugo, who quietly got to his feet. Silently, he made a shooing motion, ushering everyone into his bedroom to hide as he quietly approached his front door and peered out the peep hole. The three teens huddled in Fugo's room and hid behind Fugo's bedroom door that was left opened a crack. There, they were ready to either further hide or attack as Fugo greeted his visitor. From what little they could hear from the muffled conversation with the man in the hallway that followed, it sounded amicable as if Fugo knew the guy.

"Damn, Fugo is so fuckin tidy," Mista was the first to relax as he explored Fugo's bedroom. "Look, he even makes his bed with hospital corners! Hospital corners!" Mista gestured to the bed and looked over at Giorno and Trish, expecting them to express the same awe at the unnecessary levels of tidiness.

Trish was facing away from both boys, seemingly _very_ interested in the blank wall in front of her. Giorno looked at her for a moment before returning to the cracked bedroom door, trying to decipher any of the muffled voices outside in the hall.

"Ok, so I'm feeling some tension in the air," Mista said cautiously. "Did you guys have a fight?"

"NO, we're fine," Trish insisted a little too strongly.

"We really are fine," Giorno said, momentarily looking back at Mista. "We were just talking and I said something that surprised Trish. It was funny, I'll tell you about it later," Giorno said with a charming smile, fully intending to "forget" to tell Mista about it later.

Mista frowned, unsure whether to believe them. Then a mischievous smile slowly creeped onto his face as he spotted an opportunity to troll both of them. "I see," Mista lowered his tone, suddenly acting gravely serious. "So you've finally asked her."

Giorno and Trish looked at each other. Trish made a face at Giorno which silently berated and questioned why he would talk to Mista of all people about this.

"Mista, I don't know what you're talking about," Giorno said quickly, conveying to both parties that he had no idea what was happening. "We should be keeping quiet so we can listen for any cues that Fugo is in trouble."

"He's fine. That sounds like Pesto Fettuccine out there from the Information Management team. We know him, he's cool," Mista waved a hand dismissively.

Giorno relaxed a little, but still stood by the door.

"Anyway, don't change the subject. What you wanted to ask Trish was all you could talk about the night before we picked her up in Sardinia a few days ago," Mista said.

Giorno knit his brow in confusion as he thought back to what they had talked about back then. Giorno had asked Mista to tell him about all Stand users and members of the mafia he knew about, which proved fruitless in figuring out who had taken Polnareff. They had discussed their plans for the future in the gang and also where Trish could live – ideally far away from her broken-in home. They talked about the financial difficulties they would soon face being outside the gang if they couldn't find Polnareff. Mista mentioned something about Buccellati, and remembering he'd no longer be able to see his friends again caused him to become so upset that he didn't want to talk for a solid half hour. Then, as if nothing had happened, Mista talked non-stop, sharing with Giorno his conspiracy theories about cannibals, vegetarians, and how much cooler Romeo and Juliet would have been if they'd been from a tribe of cannibals living next to a tribe of vegetarians.

 _"_ _Do you think Juliette could have given up meat for Romeo's vegetarian ass?"_ Mista had asked.

 _"_ _Does Romeo really want to get involved with a cannibal?"_ Giorno had played along. He was starting to suspect Mista said strange things just to get a reaction out of people, even though the subjects were presented as serious questions. _"Juliette could eat steak instead. Or they could compromise and share a mutual appreciation for eggs."_

"So, did she give you an answer?" Mista grinned impishly.

For a moment, all Giorno could think about was whether Mista was asking if Trish a cannibal. Then he suddenly realized what Mista was doing. It was another game to lighten the mood. "Mista, whatever you're about to say, this isn't a good time."

"Trish…" Mista walked over to her, a deadly serious expression on his face. "Giorno wanted to ask you," Mista paused for dramatic effect and Trish looked about ready to blow. "Do you dye your hair pink or is it natural?"

There was silence in the room for a few beats before Trish snorted. She covered her mouth with her hands as she started laughing, from the surprisingly absurd question but mostly from the release of nerves. Mista laughed with her, now thinking his joke was much more hilarious than it actually was, as the two struggled to keep a low volume in case any men out in the hallway could hear. Trish looked over at Giorno between giggles and he sighed in relief.

The front door opened again and everyone fell quiet. Fugo entered the bedroom a few seconds later looking a bit pale, which was quite a feat considering how pale he normally was.

"So…" Fugo said as he looked around the room at his three comrades. He rose an eyebrow at Trish and Mista holding in giggles while Giorno collapsed into a sitting position on his bed, looking as if all the air had leaked out of him. He didn't want to ask. "I've been reassigned to a new team, which I'm to meet right away. Passione has made a sudden move for reorganization and a lot of us are being given new teams. Which brings us to the cause of all this…" Fugo cautiously approached Giorno. "There's a new Boss."

A heaviness surrounded Giorno as he quietly asked with darkness lacing his tone, "Who?"

"He took over just this morning. Not much is known about him yet by the lower ranks, but he's made himself known to all of the highest members of Passione. He claims Trish's father came to him the other day, telling him he was going to die, and handed all power over to him. He's a Stand user from Rome and his proof of being handed the position by the former Boss is his possession of the Stand arrow."

\- - -  
 _Author's note: Giorno and Trish are starting to realize they like each other, but Giorno is too distracted with his dream to fully notice and Trish not only has a touch of tsundere, but she has reasons to be concerned about getting too involved with him. Also, they're both 15 and are as smooth as chunky soup when it comes to romance and romantic self-awareness._

 _Shout out to my friend Edibles (EdibleNonsense on here – GO CHECK OUT HER STORIES!) for encouraging my idea that Mista has a big family. Also shout out to Yanagihime on Tumblr for saying that the way Mista interacts with Sex Pistols is a lot like someone who is used to wrangling younger siblings. This made me think, "What if Mista's family had 6 kids?"_

 _ALSO for Z-Paladin contributing to the conversation by saying, "Mista was the 4th kid and it haunts him to no end." ;DSIAGJ;AGI_

 _And a shoutout to both Edibles and Duhragonball for making me laugh so hard on Discord while we talked about chapter title options._


	8. Uh Oh Spaghettios

After Fugo left the apartment to meet his new team, Giorno, Mista, and Trish quietly returned to the kitchen to resume their meal preparations. Giorno was too distracted to focus on food anymore. Mista spotted him slowly picking pieces of eggshell out of a mixing bowl with a spoon and a faraway look in his eyes.

Mista squinted into the bowl and saw two egg yolks seasoned with tiny shell pieces. "Ok, seriously, no offense… I know we just got some big news and you're obviously distracted, but I have to know: How are you this bad at cooking?"

"I grew up eating a lot of instant and canned food," Giorno said simply as the bowl was snatched from his hands. He didn't want to explain there were few options available to a child when no one bothered to cook for you or teach you how. His mother and step-father were happy whenever Giorno was "independent" and "out of the way" while the two of them went on dates to fancy restaurants. Giorno had tried his best to keep them pleased and nothing displeased them more than coming home to the smell of burnt food from a cooking experiment gone wrong. Simple, easy-to-prepare foods were safer.

Mista gave Giorno a pitying look. "When all this is over, I'm teaching you to cook. Trish, that means you, too. Don't think I missed how you were handling those bread crumbs! All of you out of the kitchen! Let the master work his magic!"

Trish protested while Mista shooed them both out of the room. She tried explaining the way she was handling bread crumbs was fine and Mista was being way too picky. She stopped huffing when she noticed Giorno sitting at Fugo's small dining room table, staring at a wall with a blank expression. She couldn't tell whether he was busy planning his next move or was deflated from the news that there was a new Boss. She sat in the chair next to him and considered placing a hand on him reassuringly. Her palm hovered over his shoulder before she retracted it. God, why was she so nervous?

Mista believed that a bad atmosphere with sullen friends could ruin an otherwise perfect meal. Food was one of the few pure joys in life and Mista was ready to protect it with his life. The tiny dining room was located right next to the kitchen so Trish and Giorno listened to Mista light-heartedly recall how his grandmother would string her homemade pasta to dry all around the house. Pasta was slung over chairs, tables, and whatever clean surface she could find. He had many stories of his family, particularly some of the mischief he and his siblings got into. All his stories revolved around food. Mista's home environment sounded so warm, inviting, and wholesome, Giorno wondered how Mista of all people ended up in the mafia. Where were all his siblings he had mentioned?

Giorno also wondered how Trish was holding up. She had broken into sobs two days ago in Sardinia after briefly mentioning her grandparents' deaths and how she had missed her own mother's funeral, but she had so quickly swallowed her pain. There had been little emotion expressed from her about her family since. She had told Giorno that the full brunt of mourning hadn't hit her yet, but he was becoming concerned she was putting herself in danger to distract herself from her losses.

"What are you planning on doing next, Giorno?" Trish asked during a lull in conversation. Mista had just finished a story of his dog running off with a big chunk of his family's Christmas goose. "The new Boss might be the same guy we briefly met in the dark of Polnareff's apartment. He has the strength of the mafia behind him now. Do we talk to him directly or do we infiltrate his place and look for Polnareff?"

"Wouldn't it be wild if he was into the same shit we're into?" Mista called from the kitchen. "What if a team-up was possible? Fugo said the guy was a Stand user from Rome, yeah? He probably wants to clean up his city after what happened with Green Day, just like what Giorno wants. But it'd be a stretch that he'd also want to stop the drug trade. That shit's gotta bring in loads of cash."

"He took Polnareff and the arrow," Giorno said darkly. "He's not going to give us back what he's stolen and his position as Boss also isn't his to take."

Mista leaned against the wall separating the kitchen to the dining room after placing their eggplant parmesan in the oven. "Right. I'm pissed the guy probably has access to Diavolo's secret stash by now. That was supposed to be ours! It isn't fair!"

"What if he knows about Requiem?" Trish said softly.

The room was quiet as they mulled over that grim possibility.

"Mista, do you still have mafia contacts in this area?" Giorno asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, a few. I don't have as many as Fugo since I haven't been around as long as he has. Fugo was… uh… Buccellati's first recruit." Something caught in Mista's throat when mentioning Bruno and he coughed to clear it away.

The table was quiet for a moment. Trish rubbed one of her eyes.

"While we wait for Fugo to get back, we should get in touch with everyone you know with mafia ties." Giorno said. "This new Boss is more public than Diavolo. If we can find out where the new Boss is staying, conducting meetings, etc, then we have a good chance finding Polnareff."

"Ok, I'll go do that," Mista said, unmoving from his spot.

"… Can you contact them now?" Giorno asked.

"Now? But… our lunch…" Mista looked over his shoulder at the oven.

"We can put the food in the refrigerator and reheat it when we get back," Giorno suggested.

Trish began inspecting her nails. She could feel the increasing culinary-related tension in the air and didn't want to get involved.

A horrified look crossed Mista's face. "R-reheat it? It's not even done cooking!"

"Then we put it in the microwave. The food will finish cooking quicker, we'll eat it quickly, and then we can leave as soon as possible."

Mista's knees buckled and he clutched the wall for support. There were too many things wrong with what Giorno just said that Mista didn't even know where to start.

"The longer we wait, the more likely Polnareff-" Giorno began.

"Polnareff would understand!" Mista cried. He barely knew Polnareff, but surely he'd know the importance of sitting down for a good meal to strengthen the body and spirit? "Wait, Trish can stay here," Mista desperately pointed at the girl. Trish shot him a glare that said Don't get me involved in this! "She can keep an eye on the food and make sure it comes out at the right time. You know how to set the oven on low to keep food warm while we're away, right?"

"You want me to stay here alone?" Trish allowed her annoyance to drip into her tone as she placed her hands on her hips. "I'd rather not sit in Fugo's empty apartment while imagining every little sound is a new Stand user about to break in through the windows." She hoped none of the fear she was feeling was showing on her face. Sure, she'd be able to fight any attacker, but after everything that has happened in the past week, she felt safer with Giorno and Mista by her side.

"Trish, you don't have a Passione badge," Giorno said thoughtfully. "It'll be dangerous being with us anyway if Mista's contacts see you as an outsider and become suspicious of you."

"What's a Passione badge?" she asked.

"This lil baby!" Mista announced as he fished around in the pockets of his pants, but was only able to find his driver's license, a credit card, a few crumpled bills, loose change, and a weird button. "Uh, I mean…" He knelt down to inspect the insides of his boots but only found some bullets and a single stick of gum. Where did he put that badge? He took off his hat, inspecting the tiny pockets sewn into the insides where he housed extra bullets. A glimmer of gold pinned to the side of his arrow caught Mista's eye. "THIS!" Mista proudly held it out for Trish to see. Trish was already too busy inspecting Giorno's badge, which he had long since taken from his pocket.

"So I just need one of these…" Trish mused as she walked towards a small flower pot hanging by one of Fugo's windows. She peered up at the withered plant, its leaves littering the floor below. Fugo hadn't had the chance to water it while they were escorting her to her father and he certainly did not bother watering it when he got back. She frowned while wondering if the plant was Fugo's or Narancia's.

"Yeah, we received them from Polpo," Mista explained. "It lets other members of Passione know we're official. Unfortunately, Polpo committed suicide a week ago, so unless we jump someone and steal theirs…"

Trish took down the flower pot from its hanging chain and set the dead plant on the floor. Using Spice Girl, she pulled the chain from the ceiling, stretching and breaking it like soft taffy. She molded the yellow metal into what looked like a Passione badge before re-hardening it. "There, now I have one, too," she presented it with a soft smile.

The boys compared her badge with theirs and after a few minor alterations, it looked legit.

"This is very well made," Giorno said, "but does anyone in Passione know about Trish?"

Mista and Trish blinked at him in confusion.

Giorno elaborated, "La Squadra knew about Diavolo having a daughter. Did they tell anyone else? While we talk to other mafia members, will anyone recognize her?"

Mista shrugged. "All I know is La Squadra liked keeping to themselves. They rarely fraternized with any other groups. It probably wasn't a good idea getting too friendly with anyone you might be ordered to kill later. But they were in rebellion against the old Boss, so it's possible they spread her picture everywhere while trying to look for us…"

Giorno stared at the flower pot cradling its dead plant on the floor. "Maybe she should stay here." Trish wasn't mafiosa and to get her involved to the point where she's impersonating one made him uneasy. They had lost a lot of friends, but it was a small comfort that they had all chosen this life even before Giorno and Bruno teamed up to take down the Boss. Trish was the one they were supposed to protect from the Boss. Whether the Boss was Diavolo or whoever this new guy was, it felt the same. He looked up at her to gauge her reaction and she stared defiantly back. They locked eyes for what felt to be way too long.

This was the second excuse Giorno conjured in the past few minutes on why Trish should stay here and it irritated her. Last night Fugo had told her to go home and live a normal life and now Giorno was treating her like she still needed to be protected and hide in a damn turtle. She didn't want Fugo's apartment to be the new turtle that would serve as her prison. Trish noticed from her time being around Giorno that he liked to strategize and was always planning his next move. As long as she contributed to these strategies, maybe she could easily change his mind. "If everyone in the mafia believes the new Boss is a friend of my father's like he's claiming, and if everyone does know about me, wouldn't it be advantageous for you to have me by your side? I might hold some sway over those who were loyal to Diavolo. After all, my father's original ruse was to keep and protect me. Not even La Squadra knew his true plans for me, right?"

"That's true," Giorno said thoughtfully. It was more her determination to join them than her argument about her potential usefulness that swayed him. He still remembered when she said she wouldn't be able to rest until she helped save Polnareff. Still, he worried regardless. "You're right, you'd be a great help to us, Trish. Sorry, I was worrying for nothing."

A small smile crept onto Trish's face in triumph but the expression fell away as they all prepared to leave. She noticed how tense Giorno was and wonderd if the always-strategizing boy ever relaxed. She noticed several times when he was too worried about the future or getting jumped by Stand users that he would refuse to eat with everyone else. He was doing that even now. He listened to Mista's lengthy stories about food as long as it gave him time to plan what to do next. The moment Giorno had an idea, he was working himself into a frenzy to immediately go do it. As if spending a single moment relaxed and enjoying one proper meal was somehow going to kill them all. Surely he knew how important mealtime was for Italians? She imagined him sitting with a cup of tea, idly watching boats pass by outside a large window by the sea as he peacefully waited for an oven timer to go off. He turns to see who just stepped into the room and smiles…

"Aw, he said he was worried about you," Mista jokingly nudged Trish, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Trish shot Mista a glare when she felt her cheeks slightly burn, which made her even angrier. "You should worry about your eggplant parmesan. It's going in the fridge."

"NO! You're both monsters!"

* * *

Mista had difficulty finding any new information from his mafia contacts. Everyone was saying the same thing: There was a new Boss and he was reorganizing select members into different teams. Other than that, everyone was commanded to continue business as usual. It was too early to tell for sure, but the new Boss wasn't making any big changes or waves. So far, most mafioso were only cautiously confused about what was happening. No one knew anything about the previous Boss but no one had heard from him or any of his top men in a while. There was no one to refute this new guy's claims. Was he legit? Anyone who dared challenge the new change in leadership quickly changed their tune upon meeting the guy. There were whispers of "strange occurrences" that happened during these meetings. Giorno suspected the non-Stand users were afraid to give any more details due to fearing the appearance of going crazy.

It was 6pm by the time Mista was to meet the last of his contacts. This guy was the only Stand user they would be meeting and he wouldn't be available until later in the day. The trio had 30 more minutes before their meeting while they idly walked the streets a block away from the alley where they agreed to meet. Giorno knew the area well and his feet were almost on auto-pilot as they walked along these well-known streets. That's when he passed his favorite gelato stand.

"Hey, Giorno!" the owner called out from behind his colorful tubs of gelato.

Trish watched Giorno turn, gently smile at the man, and his shoulders visibly dropped into a more relaxed posture. "Hello, it's good to see you." Giorno's tone was warm and extended beyond polite formalities. It was obvious he was very glad to see this man.

"I haven't seen you around in a while! You always get something at least once a week. Have you been busy? Is it exam season already?"

Mista and Trish exchanged glances. Holy shit, hidden Giorno lore.

"No, I've just… been busy with some friends." When Giorno stepped closer to the tiny shop, he finally noticed his stomach growling in protest from not eating anything all day. He peered at the familiar flavors, greedily wanting a little of each in his hunger.

"Are those your friends?" the owner asked, nodding to Trish and Mista. "Do they like gelato?"

"YES!" Mista ran up to the shop. He was starving and if it wasn't for the food cart they stopped by hours earlier selling street food, he never would have gotten the Sex Pistols to shut up. It was criminal making him put their lunch in the fridge. It was inhumane torture! His hands were shaking as they pulled the crumpled bills out of his pockets, ready to order everything. Cheers from the hungry Sex Pistols descended into shouting matches over which flavors Mista should get. They were making so much noise, Giorno was amazed non-Stand users couldn't hear them.

Trish slowly followed behind them, hungrily eyeing the caramel cream and black cherry flavors.

"Would you like the usual?" the store owner asked Giorno.

"Yes, please."

"Giorno has come by my shop ever since he was a little boy," the gelato man told Trish and Mista as he prepared Giorno's cone with one scoop of chocolate and one pistachio. "I first saw him when he was walking home from kindergarten."

"Reaaaaally?" Mista asked with a mischievous grin. "What was he like then?"

Giorno shifted uncomfortably.

"A lot like how he is now – quiet and polite," the man smiled kindly.

Trish thought about all the times she's seen Giorno wrecking Stand users and destroying vehicles over the past week. Though she supposed as long as they weren't in life-and-death situations, he was quiet and polite.

"What about his parents, what were they like?" Mista asked, looking between the gelato man and Giorno, not caring who would answer. Surely Giorno had parents, who else was buying him gelato when he was little?

"You know, for the ten years I've known you, Giorno, I've never seen your parents. You must have been very independent from a young age to bravely walk back from school alone every day."

Giorno dropped his eyes and partially hid his face behind his cone. The gelato man noticed and cleared his throat. "Oh! I do remember you with that man one time. You know the one. He was a good person and looked out for me."

The gelato man relaxed when he saw Giorno's tight expression soften into a smile. Of course Giorno remembered him: The Mafioso who literally saved his life, made his step-father stop beating him, and stopped the kids at school from relentlessly torturing him. He was one of the few people in this world to show genuine care to Giorno when he was a useless weakling. It has been many years since that man was last seen, but Giorno often still thinks about him. He's the reason for the fire in Giorno's chest, his passion to become a Gang-Star. That man is the reason why Giorno is now standing on the street with Mista and Trish at his side. Part of Giorno was hoping to see him again after joining Passione, but he knew deep down the guy was most likely dead. After Diavolo took over and forcibly united large mafia groups that were non-compliant to merging into one, there were many violent fights in the streets and many people died.

Giorno saw his savior's partner alone one afternoon and tried asking where he was. There was no way any mafioso was going to discuss mafia matters with a strange child, but Giorno noticed the way the guy clenched his jaw and the sad look on his face as he turned away. That was all the information Giorno needed.

"Anyway, what will you two have?" the gelato man's cheerful voice broke through Giorno's thoughts. Trish and Mista were ordering, but giving Giorno concerned glances. Especially Mista who was now under the impression that Giorno was an orphan.

Mista bought a cone with three scoops. One was for Sex Pistols, which left two for himself. Trish bought both the caramel and cherry flavors. When they all had their cones and were about to sit down at the one tiny table on the street, a little boy ran up to Giorno and tugged on his pants leg.

"Mister," he said. "C-could you-" he trailed off, too shy to finish.

Giorno recognized the kid. He had bought him gelato right before his adventure with Buccellati began. Something about the kid had reminded him of himself at that age. He had a lonesome, hungry look in his eye. There was no way he could have turned the kid away back then, and he wasn't going to turn him away now.

"Could he have another of what I'm having?" Giorno asked the gelato man.

The kid had the biggest smile on his face as he took his cone. "Thank you very much!"

Trish thought this was the sweetest thing and couldn't help herself. "What's your name?" she asked the boy.

The boy shyly stepped back and partially hid behind Giorno. "Uh… Marco."

"Hi, Marco, I'm Trish," She knelt to the ground so she'd be more at eye level with him. "I'm friends with Giorno, too."

Marco looked up at Giorno, having not known his name until that moment. Giorno nodded at the boy. Not sure what else to say, the boy blurted out, "Are you his girlfriend?"

Trish heard an eruption of laughter behind her, coming from Mista. Her cheeks burned pink.

Giorno noticed Trish's discomfort and quickly said, "No, we're just friends." He smiled kindly down at the kid.

"Oh," the boy thoughtfully bit into his cone. "Why?"

"Wh-" Giorno was taken aback by the question and for a moment was at a loss for words.

Mista tried to muffle his laughter by eating more gelato, but he ended up snorting some out of his nose and nearly choking.

"I'm too busy to date anyone," Giorno said, regaining his composure.

"My big brother said if you're in High School and you don't have a girlfriend by then, you're a loser. I hope you get a girlfriend soon. You don't want to ruin your life. Thanks for the gelato!" the boy said as he ran off. Giorno, Trish, and Mista stared in silence while their frozen sweets began melting and dripping down their fingers and cones.

"D-did he just call us losers?" Mista laughed. "Giorno, you have some rude friends!"

"So you don't have a girlfriend?" Trish asked Mista. She assumed he didn't, but she also thought he'd make a pretty nice boyfriend if he bathed more often.

"Well… no. With our line of work, anything more serious than flings can be difficult…" Mista nervously adjusted the hat on his head. "I mean, I've had a few dates in the past but things have been so busy. I'll have more luck later. What about you, Trish?"

"Well… I've never been on a date before," She hoped her voice was as calm and confident as she intended. "But I'm not interested in those kinds of things yet," she added a little too defensively. It was a little white lie. She had been curious when a few of her friends at school started going out on their first dates. She was only 15, she had all the time in the world to explore that part of life, but being asked about her dating life when she never had one made her feel small somehow.

"We should get moving," Giorno said, turning in the direction of where they're to meet Mista's contact. "It's almost time, we can eat on the way there."

* * *

Mista's Stand User contact was nervous and jittery as they quietly spoke to him in a broad alleyway decorated with parked motorcycles and potted plants.

"Everyone I know who is a Stand user is being reorganized into a different team," the man said. "As far as I know, anyone who isn't a Stand user is left alone and told to continue business as usual. The new Boss said things will stay the same regardless of the new leadership, but that's only true for most people. It's bullshit to us Stand users. The creepiest thing is: How does he know who is and isn't a Stand user? It's not like any of us parade that information around to just anyone."

Giorno's chest tightened thinking about the stolen hard drive. Polnareff had researched a lot of Stand users within the mafia. He even had Narancia and Buccellati's home addresses.

"That is strange," Mista hummed thoughtfully. "With Passione's influence and power, there aren't many rivals that can compete with us. Is there some kind of internal power struggle going on where Stand users are needed to be placed across all levels of the mafia?"

"See, that's the thing. We are being placed in all areas, but to me it seems more like he's splitting us up. Some of us have been relocated to new areas that don't make any sense. I have a buddy whose Stand is water-based. He needs to be near a lot of water for his Stand to have much power. It allows him to be great at his job in the shipping industry along the coast, but he was sent to a new location inland."

"Have you heard from him since his transfer?" Mista asked.

He man shook his head. "Naw, he just left this morning. I'll call him later, though, and I'll let you know if he finds out anything. I just got my new orders as well. I'm to leave tomorrow and join a new team. It sucks. You spend years with one team, you learn how to work like a well-oiled machine together, very few problems, you're like family, and suddenly some new guy decides to randomly split you all up. It doesn't make any damn sense."

"Surely people have complained," Giorno said. He couldn't imagine wanting to piss off all his most powerful subordinates all on the first day.

The contact's voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. Everyone leaned in to listen. "They have. This afternoon several guys I knew requested to speak to the Boss directly about their issues with this new arrangement. They contacted some higher ups and they were allowed to speak to the Boss directly."

Giorno's eyes lit up. It was that easy to gain an audience with the new Boss?

The contact continued, "A few of them were hopeful their voices would be heard, but no one's heard anything from any of them yet."

Mista, Giorno, and Trish all exchanged a worrying look that said the same thing: I hope Fugo is ok.

* * *

Fugo was not ok. He had been assigned to a team of intel gatherers who were sitting with him outside a small café to discuss their new positions but because none of them knew anything about their new assignments, conversation had quickly deteriorated into small talk for several hours. It was a lovely day to enjoy appetizers while idly drinking tea, but Fugo wasn't sure how good the company was. They were only a team of three at the moment but they were told two more members would be joining them later that day, one of them being the team leader. Fugo couldn't stop thinking about how his friend Pesto Fettuccine was still with his Information Management team. What was the difference between the Intel and Information Management branches? The two branches were also located in the same area, but would not be working together. Wasn't there some redundancy here?

His two new partners were also Stand users but within hours they were already dancing on Fugo's last nerve. Their names were Macaroni Spaghettios and Beefaroni Boiardi. First of all, the fuck kind of names were those? Beefaroni at least had a normal last name, but Fugo could sometimes not understand Macaroni Spaghettio's thick American accent. Fugo's headache was growing when he realized he probably not only had the strongest Stand in the room but he also had the most experience. Mr. Boiardi appeared to be close to 20, had only been in the mafia for a few months, and had this weak ass Stand that could tap telephone wires. His Stand looked like some kind of fucking noodle monster. It made Fugo angry realizing he now knew what Stretch Armstrong and Tangela the Pokemon's love child looked like and felt an irrational desire to stab it. Besides, what kind of mafia intel member shows off his Stand so quickly? Beefaroni Boiardi was an idiot.

As of now, Fugo didn't care what Mr. Spaghettios's Stand did or if he even had one. Fugo wasn't sure if the guy was trying to be discreet or if he just didn't have time to mention it between the needless blabber pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall. This Spaghettios guy seemed way too intent to prove he was Italian despite being a foreigner and made every opportunity he had to brag about how much he knew about Italy and how he totally belongs here because his grandmother was born and raised in Naples. We get it, you're insecure. No one cares. Just shut up, sit down, and do your fucking job.

Even though they had no fucking job at the moment. Where was their fearless leader? Wasn't he supposed to be here two hours ago? Fugo wanted to scream. In the meantime, Fugo's new "friends" decided they were going to do some team building bullshit by seeing how many packages of sugar they could stack together like a house of cards. Fugo knew he should be more interested in his new teammates, but he had already prepared himself in advance to hate them even before meeting them. He missed his old team too much and fuck anyone who thought Buccellati's group could be so easily replaced. Fugo sighed, telling himself this was his new life now and and he needed to move on. Somehow, these thoughts only made him want to stubbornly cling even harder to the past.

Fugo was quietly pouting as Mr. Spaghettios and Boiardi were deepening their new budding friendship right in front of Fugo's poor, pessimistic, edgelord eyes when the last two members of their team arrived. They flashed their Passione badges before pulling up a second café table next to them. One of the newcomers was a man who at first appeared to be around 20 years old, but upon closer inspection Fugo noticed the ugly burns and scars on his face make him look older than he actually was. There was a youthful quality to the man's bright brown eyes. A girl with long, curly black hair and olive skin was with him. She looked to be around Fugo's age. A woman was very rare in their line of work and Fugo couldn't help but stare.

The girl introduced herself as Chloe. The man introduced himself as their team leader and immediately asked if each of them could meet him one-on-one inside the café. Macaroni Spaghettios went first, leaving Fugo, Beefaroni, and Chloe sitting outside.

Chloe slipped into Spaghettios's old seat. Before she was able to say anything, Beefaroni began flirting. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen!"

Fugo wanted to bang his head on the table in frustration at Beefaroni's unprofessionalism. Chloe took it in stride and gracefully deflected Beefaroni's comments, all while looking Fugo's way and smiling at him. It made Fugo uncomfortable and not just because Beefaroni had noticed these exchanges and was burning with jealousy. Did Fugo know her from somewhere? Was she sizing him up?

Not too long after, their leader re-emerged and called for Beefaroni to join him.

"I thought they were going to talk one-on-one…" Fugo said when Spaghettios did not return.

Chloe gave a casual shrug. "Maybe they have to discuss something between the three of them, who knows."

Fugo craned his neck to get a better visual angle through one of the café windows when Chloe tapped the table in front of him to get his attention.

"Hey. You look familiar, "she said. "Maybe we went to High School together last year?"

Fugo furrowed his brows. The last time he was in a High School was 3 years ago when he was barely 13 years old. "Chloe… that name has Greek origins, right?"

She smiled. "You're smart. Maybe you were put in the right team."

Fugo raised his brows in interest. "Did you overhear something about which team I would be assigned to?" Hope began to spread within Fugo. This intel team could be the perfect position to be in to find out more about their new Boss. This Chloe girl was acting as if she knew more than she should. She could be their ticket for valuable information he would later relay to Giorno, Mista, and Trish.

"I could have heard something," she said, casually leaning back in her chair with a grin. "I overhear a lot of interesting things due to my position. I also know what our first assignment is."

Fugo leaned forward, eagerly awaiting details. Chloe sat unmoving for a few moments, staring at him as the smile fell from her face. Then she reached for her purse which hung on the back of her café chair, pulled out a manila envelope, and slid it across the table. Fugo began opening the envelope when she explained, "We're to research and locate some traitors of the old Boss."

Fugo stopped, half expecting the envelope to immediately explode in his face. When nothing happened, he looked up at Chloe, whose eyes were boring holes through his skull.

"You were all on the same team at one point, but you weren't with them when they took down the previous Boss. Why?"

Fugo's chair screeched across the pavement as he suddenly stood.

"Relax," Chloe giggled, though Fugo noticed a hint of nervousness in her laugh. "You're not in trouble. There's a reason why you're on this team – it's for this assignment and this assignment only. Were you wondering why someone with such a powerful Stand like yours would be expected to tap phone lines with Mr. Boiardi? Even the Boss knows you'd be much more appropriate for the new assassination team."

"Who are you?" Fugo realized this girl was more than just a regular subordinate.

"I told you, I'm Chloe," she said with a cheerful one, but there was no cheer in her eyes. "Why don't you sit back down?"

"No," Fugo glared down at her. Spaghettios, Beefaroni, and their leader still hadn't returned yet. Where were they? Fugo looked around the café, but it was calm and the only thing out of place was a rather cold breeze stirring in the air, considering it was spring.

"Look, your friends, ex-friends, whatever… they're not in trouble, either, "Chloe held her hands up, looking unwilling to fight. "I think they," she pointed to the manila envelope, "would find they had a lot in common with the new Boss. All I know is we're supposed to gather information on them, particularly the ones we don't have any Stand information about, and get them in contact with the Boss so we can all be on the same side. That's all."

Fugo hesitated and Chloe continued, "We have a lot of information already about Guido Mista, but if you could tell me more information especially about the other two's Stands…"

Fugo took a sharp intake of breath. He wasn't brought here so he could do a job. He was the job. What would happen if he denied her information? He needed to get out of here. He took a step back. "I… don't know who you're talking about. My old team had six members, including myself. Which two do you want information about?" He wondered if everyone was still at his apartment. He needed to warn them.

"Oh, Mr. Fugo, you're such a bad liar." Chloe pouted.

Fugo assessed his situation. He assumed Chloe was a Stand-user. He couldn't see a non-Stand-user tasked to interrogate him. She was a brazen one. She had to know about his Stand, yet here she was sitting a meter away as if he was no threat at all. If Chloe's Stand was close-range like his, he could try attacking her, incapacitate her, then make a run for it before their team leader returned. If her Stand was long-range, the moment she was out of Purple Haze's range Fugo would be at a disadvantage. Fugo looked at all the innocent people sitting around them in the outdoor section of the café, much too close. Fuck, he didn't want to risk anyone else getting killed. She seemed to notice and her smile softened almost sympathetically.

"What took so long?" Chloe asked, her eyes still on Fugo. Fugo was confused before realizing she was talking to their leader who had returned. The fact the man stood just outside Purple Haze's range was not lost on Fugo.

"Some take longer than others," he responded. Fugo watched the man tugging his sleeve further down his right wrist. Fugo swore he saw blood on the man's palm. The guy was dressed normally in navy dress pants and a casual black button-up shirt. His dark brown hair was short and disheveled. Nothing about him stood out besides his scars.

"Where are the others, Beefaroni Boiardi and Macaroni Spaghettios?" Fugo asked.

"They were assigned different orders," the man responded in deadpan. Fugo didn't believe him. Their leader and Chloe exchanged a look Fugo couldn't interpret.

"So, will you help us?" Chloe turned towards Fugo again.

Fugo looked between the two standing in front of him. His tone dropped as he darkly muttered, "Yes."

"Come with me," their leader motioned Fugo to follow him inside the café.


	9. Fugo Has A Bad Time

Fugo looked down at the blood on his new team leader's palm. There was also blood on the toe of the man's leather shoes, which Fugo swore were clean before his teammates Beefaroni and Spaghettios disappeared within the café. Fugo absently rubbed his fingers together, his arms held stiffly at his sides as dread churned like a black whirlpool in his gut.

The man had already turned and was reentering the café while Chloe stood with one foot tapping expectantly behind Fugo. He was trapped, sandwiched between the two and he noticed Chloe cautiously edging closer to him as if quietly pressuring him into the building.

A flash of purple painted Chloe's vision as Purple Haze materialized. The girl's calm expression dropped into one of indignant horror as she locked eyes on the Stand's raised fist, sun glinting off the capsules on its knuckles.

 _She can see Stands_ , Fugo noted. _As expected._

The girl yelped in surprise while jumping back and diving under their table. Barely a second passed before the table suddenly flipped and struck Fugo in the face. A wall of wind knocked him a dozen meters down the block along with all surrounding tables, chairs, and screaming pedestrians. The sound of multiple windows shattering up and down the street were heard. After eating concrete and dizzy from rolling down the sidewalk, Fugo wiped the blood from his mouth as people threatened to trample him as they fled. Everything that wasn't nailed down had been flung in every direction down the street, littered the road, and smashed into the café. Fugo didn't see the new team leader anywhere and imagined he must have gotten caught in the blast and was now picking himself out of a cartoonishly human-shaped hole in a far wall inside the café. Chloe sat in the middle of it all, seemingly untouched, but her expression was tousled with rage.

"Fucking mafia scum!" she shrieked, her voice raising an octave too high as her voice gave out and screeched like an out-of-tune instrument. She was frantically looking at the people around her in alarm and also at her own hands as if checking that they were still there. Fugo rose to his feet, ignoring the burning in his chest from having the wind knocked out of him, and caught the sight of a wispy pair of wings emerging out of Chloe's back made from thick, white smoke. A long, swan-like neck grew out of the top of her head, its neck ending in a stump with a gaping, toothless, black mouth that reminded Fugo of a black hole.

Fugo and Chloe locked eyes as they measured each other up. Fugo suppressed the impulse to take a chance and take her out in the precious second the girl turned when she heard their "leader" shouting for her. There were no pedestrians around anymore and he had a clear shot to potentially take them both out at once, as long as her wind didn't blow Purple Haze's viruses back into his face.

Impatience and rage convinced him how quickly and easily it would be regardless of the risks, but his logical side grabbed a foothold through the stormy sea of emotions. It was too risky to take on two Stand users alone, especially when you had a only foundational understanding of one and absolutely no information about the other.

While Chloe was momentarily distracted with their leader, Fugo made a dash for the alley beside the café. He had seen a bicycle parked next to a side door when he first arrived, probably belonging to one of the employees. He prayed it was still there. It was. He lunged for it, his heart leaping with hope and hands gripping the handlebars. That's when he saw the body of Beefaroni Boiardi lying behind a stack of empty cardboard boxes. Beefaroni had a metal baking pan cleanly embedded through his skull. Fugo gasped and froze in shock just as Chloe emerged around the corner.

An angry torrent of winds propelled Chloe forward like a jetpack. Fugo ducked as she flew overhead. She landed a meter behind him and panic overtook him as he prepared for a pincer movement between the two Stand users. He was again trapped between them and based on the dead body lying behind the boxes, the other Stand user was most likely the one they had encountered at Polnareff's apartment. The man had lodged a metal curtain rod through Giorno's chest, a chain linked fence through Mista's body, a knife through an enemy Stand user's head, and a baking pan through Beefaroni's skull. Fugo no longer felt safe riding this metal bicycle. He planted his feet onto the ground and flung the bicycle in Chloe's direction. As expected, a sudden kick of wind knocked the air out of Fugo's lungs and he felt himself being launched vertically into the air, but this time Purple Haze had grabbed the neck of Chloe's Stand, dragging it with him. He squeezed hard enough to try breaking her neck.

Fugo caught a glimpse of Chloe clawing at her own neck on the ground, unable to breathe. Struggling to get free, her Stand let out another barrage of wind and Fugo felt a fourth story window shatter that his back and shoulder struck. He fell backwards into a dark room, landing on a soft carpet littered with glass shards. Pain shot up and down his arms from where the glass had ripped through his skin. He looked at Purple Haze's fist, which had slipped from the girl's Stand, nothing left but a wisp of white smoke.

"Young man!" an old lady shouted as she stood from her living room sofa. A game show was on television and a small, yapping dog was in her arms. "What are you doing here?"

Fugo ignored the woman in favor of looking out the newly broken window to see Chloe perched on the windowsill of the adjacent building. Gracefully, she flew over and leered at Fugo. "Call the police, he's in the mafia and is here to rob you!" she told the woman.

The old lady's mouth dropped open and she sputtered as her face turned red with rage. "I'm tired of you bastards thinking you can do whatever you want!" the old woman approached Fugo, who was struggling to get onto his hands and knees. He heard Chloe laughing while the old woman began beating him with a shut umbrella.

Finally finding his footing, Fugo ran from the living room, ignoring the feeling of his wounds stretching open further from the strain.

"Don't worry, miss, I'll get him and teach him a lesson," he heard Chloe say to the old woman just before Purple Haze knocked over a cabinet of fine china in a desperate attempt to block the doorway from his pursuers. A few seconds later as Fugo was unlocking the three deadbolts the old woman had on her apartment door, he heard the sound of cracking wood as Chloe's Stand easily knocked the heavy furniture away.

Panicked, Fugo jumped the railing of the apartment building's spiral staircase. Before Fugo hit the floor after falling four stories, Purple Haze caught the highest railing of the first floor and gently set Fugo down. He was opening the door to the apartment's main lobby when a strong burst of wind smashed his body against the door, slamming it shut. Fugo's body jolted a foot off the ground from the force of the winds. It was difficult to move. It was difficult to breathe.

"Did you know that the winds from tornadoes are so strong, they can embed otherwise harmless playing cards into the trunks of trees as if they were ninja stars?" he heard the girl say behind him.

Fugo found it difficult to turn his head, but he was able to look behind him and catch the girl casually opening a pack of cards. He felt the door groan under the pressure beneath him and the stairwell railing rattled from the force of the winds. Meanwhile, not a hair on Chloe's head moved.

"A 'gift' I stole from the lady upstairs," she stated matter-of-factly. "Now, you're going to answer a couple of my questions. First question: What's up with the turtle?" She held out a playing card, which delicately flapped in the breeze. She let it go and it embedded itself dangerously close to Fugo's spine. He flinched. He wasn't sure if she had missed. Her Stand was powerful but he was beginning to doubt its accuracy.

Fugo said nothing as Purple Haze materialized on the opposite side of the door he was pinned to.

"Not talking? Fine. I've got 51 of these left… "

The door made a cracking sound as it gave way when Purple Haze knocked out one of the door hinges. Fugo and the door flew into the apartment building's main lobby and slid across the waxed floor.

Fugo's heart leapt as he lunged for the beautiful sunlight streaming in through the building's front doors. If he could get back onto the streets, he'd have a lot more options for places to hide. Just then he saw the second Stand user walk by and they locked eyes through a window. Fugo dove for cover into the apartment's leasing office as he heard shattering glass and a low ringing when the heavy metal doors were suddenly dropped to the floor where Fugo once stood.

As Fugo grabbed a chair to throw through the nearest leasing office window, he began noticing how difficult it was for him to catch his breath and how weak and sluggish his body was becoming. He had lost a lot of blood and was doubting his ability to run from either of the approaching enemies. He noticed his mind had become just as sluggish when he noticed a latch on the window. It could be easily opened without needing to break it. Fugo let go of the chair and opened the window.

"You ok?" he heard the man ask Chloe as she emerged from the stairwell. He didn't hear the girl respond, but assumed she gave a nod as the two planned their next move. The leasing office door clicked open.

Fugo had nestled himself under a desk, surrounded by unfiled boxes of an untidy office worker. His feet had lost his shoes and his socks were being used to prevent the worst of his wounds from dripping on the carpet. Fugo drew his knees close to his chest, trying to shrink as small as possible. Holding his breath until it became uncomfortable and spots formed at the corner of his eyes, Fugo only allowed himself to breathe very slowly through the nose. The heavier footsteps could be heard drawing closer first, their Team Leader most likely in the lead. The two Stand users stopped at the office closest to the door. They had spotted Fugo's shoes sticking out from beneath the desk with a few drops of blood dotting the carpet.

Fugo watched from around a corner as the man cautiously entered the room and the girl stood outside, a satisfied grin on her face. She didn't see Purple Haze coming until it was too late.

Chloe screamed as Purple Haze punched the wall next to her. She jumped back, but not quickly enough. Her hand, which was held up to shield her face, began to bubble. Noticing this, she began wailing.

Fugo leaped out of the window and stumbled back to his feet as he heard the man inside say, "Hold still, I'm going to chop it off." Fugo was halfway around the block and he could still hear Chloe's agonized screams.

The streets were bare. Police surrounded the cafe, answering to the many reports of a bomb going off. Even if there were taxis left on the street, Fugo wondered if one would pick up someone as bloodied as himself. He was confident it was only the adrenaline keeping his legs moving, noting the way his shoeless feet dragged while half-jogging down the street. He wove through back roads and alleyways, trying to get as much distance as possible from his enemies. He stopped only when he began questioning his ability to continue moving through the thick fatigue.

Purple Haze ripped a door off the hinges of a black Sudan parked in the alley between two boutiques. Fugo crawled into the back seat to access the damage to his body while his Stand replaced the door. The door no longer fit normally, but at least from a distance there didn't appear to be anything wrong with the car. He needed only a few minutes to patch himself up before he hot-wired the car. Pulling off his jacket and seeing the large gashes down his arms, he questioned his decision to have so many holes in his suit. His right shoulder and arm had gone through the fourth floor window first, so it naturally suffered the worst wounds. Fugo tightly wrapped his tie around his right arm, using it as a tourniquet so he wouldn't bleed out. Ripping off the sleeves of his jacket, he used the rest of the material to patch up his other wounds as much as possible. It was a shoddy job and he knew he'd need to find Giorno soon.

Fugo wanted nothing more than to lay in the backseat and fall asleep, but knew that wasn't a good idea. Soon he had the car hot-wired. Not wanting to be easily identified by enemies who could spot him driving down the street, he stole some new clothes, sunglasses, and a black ball cap from one of the boutiques with the help of Purple Haze.

He drove for several miles before pulling over at a phone booth. He desperately needed to call his friends and warn them that unwelcome visitors may be arriving at his apartment very soon. Someone answered Fugo's apartment phone quickly, but nothing but silence was offered on the other end. Fugo waited for a sign that it was one of his friends on the other end of the line before his stomach tied into knots and he hung up. He immediately jumped back into his car and drove to another location.

The dark hallway of a cheap night club felt momentarily safe enough as Fugo sat in front of a row of old public phones hanging on the walls. The seats were ripped and there were sketchy phone numbers littering the walls in various handwriting. It was still too early for there to be many people in the building yet. Fugo checked his watch. It was broken.

Fugo dialed the number of his friend Pesto Fettuccine from the Information Management team. Fugo sighed in relief when Pesto's voice was heard on the other line.

"Pesto, it's Fugo. Are you ok?" Fugo sat down on a wobbly bench and leaned against the nearby wall.

"Fugo? _What_ have you been doing? A few minutes ago, we got word that the Boss has a hit on your head. You're supposed to be shot on sight. Where are you?"

Fugo bit his lip as his heart sank. Great. Brushing off Pesto's last question, Fugo began prodding, "Pesto, about the new intel group… two people came to meet us, a man and a woman. One was apparently our team leader but he killed the other two members of our group. They tried to kill me, too. I barely got out alive. Do you know who they might have been?"

"Damn. Did you do anything to piss off the Boss for him to send hit men after you?"

Fugo thought about that night when Polnareff's hard drive was stolen and they buried that Stand user in concrete. "I don't know. I don't even know who the new Boss is. Do you know anything about him?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Look, I shouldn't be talking to you given the circumstances, but we've known each other for a long time. I know you're a good guy. When Buccellatti's team went traitor, you were the only one of them to refuse and came home."

Fugo's chest ached.

Pesto continued, "Also, you got me out of that jam back in April last year. I owe you one, so I'll tell you this: I wasn't transferred to another team. I'm still in intel/Information Management. I thought it was odd you were being added to a second intel team. It didn't make any sense why you weren't just added to mine. There's been talk of the Boss reassigning a lot of people. There have been complaints about highly-efficient teams being broken up. I'm talking inhuman levels of efficiency almost as if some of its members are fucking wizards, and based on some of the reports…"

Fugo swallowed hard.

"...Anyone who has met this new Boss has been scared out of their minds about something during their meetings. I heard he's a rather plain-looking guy: short brown hair, dresses casual, but has scars on his face and hands. He says he's from Rome, but I've heard rumors he's a local by a few who claim to recognize him. I was naturally curious, so I've been trying to get a name but haven't been able to get into contact with those who claim to have known him."

Fugo ran a hand down his dirty face. "That's him. That's the guy who tried to kill me today."

"Fucking. Hell. Really? Seriously, what did you do to piss him off?"

Fugo groaned. "Do you know anything about the girl he was with? She looked to be around my age – long black curly hair, name is Chloe. She attacked me at the cafe." Technically, Fugo attacked her, but it wasn't to kill. At first. Fugo decided to leave those minor details out.

There was a pause on the other end. "… There are no women working in Passione. Unless you count the wives who naturally do tasks for their husbands. Sounds like she might be too young for that, though."

"Well, I saw a Passione woman with my own eyes. She was with 'our' new Boss and she's the one who inflicted most of the damage on me."

"Maybe she's part of a new underground hit squad he's assembling. Since… you know, all of La Squadra…"

"Yeah," Fugo said quietly. "Here's the thing, though. During our confrontation, she called me, and I quote, 'Fucking mafia scum.' That's an odd thing to say if she's mafiosa herself. Is Passione now contracting out hit-men?"

"I… don't know. There's been a lot of changes and it's only been a day. I'll look into all of this, but… Fugo, I don't think it's safe for either of us to communicate for the next few days."

"Yeah. I understand," Fugo said. Pesto was already risking a lot by saying as much as he was right now. "Thanks for everything, Pesto."

"You take care."

Fugo hung up the phone and slouched in his seat. The pain and fatigue was becoming unbearable. Now that his apartment was possibly compromised, there was only one place he thought Mista would go in an attempt to meet up – the restaurant where they all met Buccellati.

* * *

"I'm so sorry to hear what happened to Buccellati," the owner of the restaurant Libeccio lowered her head. "He was not only one of my best customers, but if not for him… well…" she trailed off.

"Many people in this neighborhood came to him for help. He was especially fond of this place," Mista said, his shadow long from the harsh back alley's street light.

"I'll tell you what," the owner said, noticing the way the pink-haired girl behind Mista was wringing her hands. "Though we're about to close, you can come in and wait for your friend. Which one was it?"

"He's blond," Mista glanced in Giorno's direction, who was nervously scanning the surrounding shadows. "The other blond. He likes to wear a lot of holes in his clothes."

"Oh, Fugo," the owner smiled stiffly, remembering having to clean blood off a table the last time he was here. There was a pause. "I'll whip up some appetizers for you while you wait. That is, if you're hungry?"

The three teens eagerly nodded as they clamored into the restaurant. Most of the staff was gone besides a few stragglers who were cleaning tables. Mista, Giorno, and Trish found a table in a corner farthest away from the windows and partially hidden behind some ferns.

"What's wrong, Trish?" Giorno asked when he noticed her hand recoil from the seat she was about to take. Fearing a Stand attack, he glared at the seat couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. It looked like a normal chair.

Trish looked up from the half dozen tiny crumbs littering her seat. She could have sworn she also saw a smear of pasta sauce on the chair's edge through the dim lighting. "N-nothing," she stammered. "I was just thinking how nice it was to hear about Buccellati." She fetched another chair at an already-cleaned table and swapped it with her own. "I miss him."

"So do I," something in Mista's voice broke as he pretended to readjust his hat, though it was obvious he was trying to hide his face.

Giorno watched Mista as he sniffed loudly and exhaled painfully. And Trish, who was sitting with her back a little too straight and biting her lower lip while she counted the number of rogue crumbs at their table. She peered up at him then quickly turned away. "We haven't had a lot of time to process what has happened."

"You ain't kidding," Mista now had both hands obscuring his face.

"Mista. Tell us something about Buccellati and this restaurant," Giorno hoped to give Mista a focus and an outlet. "You chose this as a rendezvous point and think Fugo will meet us here if he's in trouble, so it must be important to you two."

Mista eagerly complied, telling them with stars in his eyes how he first met Buccellati. The story was peppered with multiple tangents with varying degrees of relevancy, but it somehow made the tale more fun. Giorno and Trish were captivated by the little details. Fifteen minutes later, the table had a large plate of potato and mozzarella croquettes.

Giorno looked to Trish, who was giggling at the description of Narancia's arms angrily waving like an air dancer caught in a storm after Bruno zipped his mouth shut during a team meeting. Her smile was contagious.

Trish noticed Giorno looking her way, a relaxed grin on his face and his arm leaning casually on the table. She smiled wider and Giorno's wavered. He sat up straighter and for a moment appeared to not know where to look before settling on the fork and dinner roll Mista was using to illustrate Aerosmith flying into the back of Fugo's head.

"Hey, Giorno, how did you meet Buccellati?" Trish asked once Mista's story was over.

Mista rose his brows. "Yeah, how _did_ you two meet? Buccellati just told us something like 'Hey dudes I met this guy.' and then, BOOM, the next day you were sitting at our table drinking piss."

"Erm, what-" Trish began.

"Remember Leaky Eye Luca?" Giorno said a little too loudly.

Mista was already putting the pieces together, "... yeahhhh?"

Giorno wasn't sorry he had accidentally killed Luca. As far as Giorno was concerned, the sleazeball deserved it and the world was a better place without him in it. However, there was something about the way Trish was learning forward, eagerly listening to his tale that made him a little nervous. He didn't want the delicate smile on her lips to vanish. "Well-"

"Your friend has arrived," the owner of the restaurant announced in a rushed whisper as she stepped to the side to reveal a very bloody and fatigued Fugo.

Everyone stood and rushed forward as the owner backed away, cautiously eyeing the group. She knew better than to become too involved in these kinds of affairs. Her eyes scanned the small trail of blood on the floor.

"Fugo! Dude, what happened?" Mista cried. "You look _**fucked** **up**!_ Damn, I told you not to put any more holes in your suit, it's not a good look for you!"

"Shut up, Mista, this isn't time for jokes," Fugo's breath came out thin and heavy, though a yelp pierced the air when Mista grabbed his friend's arm to help steady him.

"What happened?" Giorno asked as he placed his hands on Fugo's right shoulder, which was bleeding the most regardless of the soaked tie wrapped around it.

"Was knocked through a window," Fugo paused to grunt from the pain. "Among other things." Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the restaurant staff keeping a respectable distance. "The owner is probably wondering if she should call for an ambulance."

"We're good!" Mista smiled and waved at the owner. "He's ok!"

The restaurant staff did not look convinced.

"Do I _look_ ok, Mista?" Fugo barked, his energy returning as Giorno struggled to continue healing a now-wriggling patient. The pain from Gold Experience's healing was making Fugo extra testy and jittery.

"You _never_ look ok. You always look like swiss cheese," Mista said as he eyed Fugo up and down, a playful grin spreading across his face. He was glad Fugo was energetic enough to argue with him. It meant he was going to be ok.

"That's rich coming from someone who looks like he's wearing Tony the Tiger's ass," Fugo jabbed a finger hard into Mista's sternum.

"Please stand still," Giorno said.

"You said my pants looked cool when I first bought them!"

"I WAS BEING _NICE!_ "

Giorno was satisfied. And also a little frustrated at being dragged around while the two sparred, so he let go. If Fugo had this much energy return, he was going to be fine.

A warm hand suddenly wrapped around Giorno's arm. Trish quietly pointed to two people outside on the streets, looking into the bright restaurant. Giorno and Trish stood still, quietly waiting to see what the couple would do. They continued on their way after looking at the restaurant's hours posted on the doors. Giorno's arm began to tingle from Trish's firm grip cutting off his circulation.

Trish sighed, "Probably just a normal couple..."

"As opposed to an abnormal one," Giorno said quietly. Trish peered up at him curiously. "Sorry, that didn't mean to come across caustically. I just mean... It's too dark outside now and too bright in here. We're exposed." He looked down at Trish's fingers still clinging to the sleeve of his shirt. She noticed and shyly pulled away and a cool chill replaced Trish's warm hands on his arm. Giorno turned to Fugo, "What's the chance you were followed?"

"I'm pretty sure I lost the two who attacked me. Of course there's always a possibility I was still followed, or there could be bugs planted in places where we think we're safe." Fugo looked around the room, where a few staff members still sometimes peered curiously in their direction.

"You should tell us everything that has happened," Giorno noted the way Fugo cautiously looked around the restaurant. "When we're somewhere more private."

"Hey, we're taking these to go!" Mista called out to the restaurant owner as he began wrapping the food in napkins that were quickly blossoming with oil stains. "Thank you, we really appreciate it!" Money was left on the table and within seconds, the teens were gone.

* * *

They were able to sneak into an empty hotel room with the help of Spice Girl softening any locked doors in their way and reshaping them back into place once the group was inside.

The group exchanged stories while sitting on the beds in a relaxed circle. Fugo told them about Chloe, the Team Leader who was more of a "Team Leader" than originally expected, and his phonecall with Pesto. Giorno, Mista, and Trish told Fugo how they tried to go back to Fugo's apartment but they had caught the shadows and movement of several people inside when they looked up at the windows from the streets below.

"For a second, I thought it might be firemen since I'm pretty sure we forgot to turn off the oven," Mista said.

Fugo's cupped his face in his hands and heaved a heavy sigh. "It's ok, Mista, that's the least of our worries right now."

"Why would the new Boss want to kill your new team mates?" Giorno asked.

Fugo shrugged. "I have no idea. In the few hours I knew them, they didn't seem threatening to me, unless they had information on the guy."

"That's a possibility," Giorno tapped his chin with one of his fingers. "But why gather new teams together just to kill them?"

"I can't imagine that Beefaroni fuckin Boiardi could have been so dangerous. The guy was an idiot," Fugo mumbled. "They just wanted information from me, until I proved too uncooperative and dangerous."

"One of Mista's contacts told us earlier today that the new Boss was only changing the teams for Stand users. Non-Stand users' jobs and locations were kept the same and Stand users were being relocated in places where their Stands weren't as useful. He also mentioned one of his Stand buddies dropping all contact and he hadn't been able to get ahold of him," Giorno stared thoughtfully at a small crack in the wall next to his headboard. "The new Boss knows who is and isn't a Stand user. He could have gotten that information from the hard drive filled with Stand user data that Polnareff had been gathering. I think..." Giorno paused. "I think he's trying to kill all the Stand users."

Fugo and Mista exchanged looks.

"It makes sense. Stands pose the most threat to him," Trish said. "If he was the only Stand user left, there'd be little risk that what happened to my father would happen to him."

"What about that girl?" Fugo asked. "I feel like we're missing something."

"That is strange what she said to you." Giorno was staring even more intensely at the wall, deep in thought. "If she hates Passione, why work for their new Boss? And why would the Boss want someone like that to work so closely to him? And if he's out to kill all Stand users, why let her live?"

The group fell silent with thought.

After a while, Giorno broke the silence. "If he's this much of a threat to us, if he is intending to kill all Stand users, there's little reason why we should engage in conversation with him. I wanted to talk to him first, but the only choice we have may be to seek to kill him first."

"I hope Polnareff is ok," Trish whispered.


End file.
